The Black Martyr
by itsalljustalie
Summary: Margot, Sirius Black's daughter, is a distraction. She must let herself get captured by Voldemort and the Death Eaters to mislead them about Harry Potter's whereabouts. Takes place during Deathly Hallows. Some Oliver Wood/OC.
1. Introduction: Planning Deeds

**A/N: This story takes place during Deathly Hallows and is a subplot for the book. Therefore, it follows the same plotline as the DH but the main focus is my OC, Margot-Adeline. Enjoy and please review!  
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**Disclaimer: Everything, besides my OC, belongs to JK Rowling!  
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The Black Martyr

**Introduction: Planning Deeds**

"HOW COULD HE HAVE ESCAPED FROM MY GRIP ONCE MORE? WE HAD HIM!"

A tall figure walked around the room at a furtive pace, his black robes swirling behind him as he did so. Over a dozen men were seated at a long table, but all of their eyes seemed to avoid their furious master.

A few minutes passed. The master still pacing. The disciples still quiet.

"My Lord," finally spoke a man with greasy hair and a crooked nose.

The Lord in question stopped his pacing and looked up to the wizard addressing him, his cherry red eyes gleaming from their narrow slits.

"Yes, Severus?" His empty voice was almost challenging.

Hesitantly, the greasy-haired man spoke again: "I have some additional information concerning Potter's case. Last year, Dumbledore was visited numerous times by someone other than the boy. He never told me exactly what these meetings were about, but he made it clear that the visitor would be able to 'help Potter and protect him from Voldemort using a special connection'".

As Severus Snape spoke, Voldemort himself took a seat at the end of the long table and twisted his wand between his abnormally long and pale fingers.

"This visitor, who was he?"

"My Lord, it was a young woman. She is a member of the Order and one of my old students; I have seen her many times. Margot-Adeline Black is her name."

Many Death Eaters gasped. Across the table, a woman snorted, half-amused yet half-disgusted by the name she had just heard. Her eyes lit up with excitement, which only accentuated her fanatical look.

"_Margot Black_? The supposed heir of the Black family? She deserves to rot like her filthy Muggle mother and blood-traitor father. If she were in front of me right now, I would…"

"Now, now, Bella, there is a time for everything. Tell me Severus, are you suggesting that we bring her here and interrogate her?"

"Yes my Lord. She is young and naïve. Under torture I am sure that she will answer your questions about Potter's plans and his whereabouts in less than a day."

Voldemort, seemingly pleased, was now stroking the large scales of his pet serpent.

"Good, good. What do you say, Nagini? Should we capture the girl right away or play with her emotions a bit first?"

All eyes were now on the snake. After a moment that seemed to the Death Eaters like an eternity, the Dark Lord smirked and finally answered the question himself.

"We will kidnap Black sometime in December, given the fact that she is not our main priority. And until the ministry is not fully under our control, we cannot do much. Is there anyone to whom she is particularly attached? Someone whose death would devastate her…"

The man next to Severus suddenly cleared his throat.

"She was adopted by the Weasleys when she was five, I've heard. Maybe if we hurt one of them…"

Bellatrix cut him off.

"The Weasleys are too protected, Yaxley! We need someone who has no reason to be captured yet. And what better way to hurt a woman than by killing the man she loves?" The witch then turned her head to the right, addressing the teenage boy next to her. Under her look, he shifted uncomfortably, the paleness of his skin clearly visible under the candles of the drawing room chandelier. He had bruises all over his cheeks and a black eye that covered the shadows caused by his insomnia. "But Draco, I'm sure you must know who Margot's boyfriend is?"

Memories of his second cousin raced through the young Malfoy's head. They had never really spoken, since Margot was a Gryffindor, four grades above him, and he was a Slytherin. However, she had always been nicer to him than the rest of the Weasley family. Perhaps she pitied Draco for having been raised in a world of hate and violence. He remembered her jet-black hair – which was a silky version of his aunt Bellatrix', and her pale eyes – way too similar to his own.

She was a friendly girl, Margot. Undeniably smart and confident by reputation. But she also had quite a sense of humor and was often seen giggling with her adoptive twin brothers. In Malfoy's third year at Hogwarts, which was also her last, he recalled having seen her hand in hand with a bloke from her house, the captain of their Quidditch team…

"Draco?"

The young man quickly snapped back into reality.

"She dated Oliver Wood, from the Puddlemere United team. I - I don't know if they're still together though."

"Well, Draco, it seems like you've finally decided to make yourself useful. Yaxley and Jugson, you two will be in charge of killing Wood – don't do it before October. Make him suffer and be sure that Black sees his corpse. Bellatrix, Dolohov, Rowle and Nott, you four will be in charge of kidnapping the girl when the time is right. Try to keep the Order out of this. _Any_ failure will have consequences."

Draco lowered his head in shame as he heard the Dark Lord's last words. He had failed to kill Albus Dumbledore just a little over two months before and knew that Voldemort was referring to this incident.

Soon enough, the assembly of Death Eaters was dismissed. Most of them hastily made their way out of the Malfoy Manor and disaparated to their homes, while others stayed for they happened to live in the grand estate.

Draco slowly made his way up to his bedroom, lay on his bed and stared at the high ceiling. Everything about the manor was over-decorated and too luxurious in the boy's opinion. Just when he was about to close his eyes and doze off, there was a knock on his door.

Whoever knocked didn't bother waiting for approval to come inside. Draco saw his father enter the bedroom and sit on the bed beside him.

"You did a good job out there, Draco."

Lucius Malfoy stared down at his only son, awaiting some sort of an answer. A simple "you're welcome" would have done.

"If you consider being responsible for someone's death a 'good job', then father, we'll have to disagree."

"Draco! I thought you enjoyed serving the Dark Lord! Do you not?"

"Margot is my cousin, father! I can't just sell her off like that, who knows what they – what _you_ will do to her once she gets here!" he spat angrily.

"When will you learn, Draco? If Margot-Adeline saw you, right here, right now, do you think that she would think twice about killing you? Perhaps she'd even torture you a bit beforehand! Use your brain, son! This is war. There is no in between, there is no gray! There's only black and white – us and _them_."

The young man remained silent until he finally came up with the most rebellious and insolent reply that would surely upset his father.

"But perhaps I do deserve to die, don't you think?"

Lucius Malfoy stormed out of the room, leaving his son alone. In the hallway that led to his own bedroom, the Death Eater came across his sister-in-law.

"What's the matter Lucius? Is little Draco being naughty again?" Bellatrix Lestrange snickered. Her mad laughter echoed throughout the mansion.

"That's none of your business, Bella." He kept walking but she followed him.

"But it's the Dark Lord's business, is it not? If Draco misbehaves, then we can do something ab…"

"I think our son has suffered enough, thank you", he interrupted her dryly.

Malfoy finally reached his bedroom, where he found his wife Narcissa removing her earrings in front of a majestic gold-framed mirror. He crept up behind her and put his hands on her scrawny shoulders, softly rubbing her neck with his thumbs.

"Where were you, after the meeting?"

Lucius sighed, sat on his bed and buried his face in his pale hands. The sound of his voice came out quite muffled, but Narcissa was able to discern what he spoke next.

"I was trying to put some sense in our pathetic excuse for a son."


	2. The Wedding

**Chapter Two: The Wedding**

"Margot," a distant voice called.

The girl, thinking that she was still in her dream, did not hesitate to reply: "You're not real!" before turning to the other side of her bed, taking her patchwork quilt with her.

She then felt a soft hand patting her arm, stood up immediately and rubbed her eyes, only to realize that her older brother was right before her.

"Charlie!" she exclaimed.

"Yea it's me," he chuckled softly. "And I'm real, you can trust me on that one!"

Margot turned slightly red and murmured a tired apology. "Sorry, bad dream. It must be really late if you're coming to wake me. I couldn't fall asleep last night– I'm just so scared that I'll see him dying again."

Charlie put a hand to her cheek and lightly kissed her forehead before purposely changing the subject.

"No fever! Well, I guess you _will_ have to be my escort to this bloody wedding!"

"Merlin's beard! Bill's wedding is today! What time is it?" his sister gasped.

"Two in the afternoon…time to help the bride get dressed! And why don't you get dressed yourself while you're at it, I don't want to be seen arm in arm with a miniature Bellatrix Lestrange! The best man needs to make a good impression."

Margot rolled her eyes at her charmer brother before passing a hand through her messy dark hair – one of the few things besides her blood and her grey eyes that connected her to the wild Bellatrix. She smiled remembering how proud she was to be one of the only rebels left in the supremacist Black family.

But her black hair was also a constant reminder to Margot that she was not Molly and Arthur Weasley's real daughter. When she was five, a group of angry Death Eaters broke into her home and killed her mother Charlotte. Her father Sirius, being imprisoned in Azkaban and charged for the murder of Peter Pettigrew, was unable to take care of his daughter. Arthur Weasley just happened to be at Black's trial and, feeling pity for the child, decided to take her in. Molly had been reluctant with the idea at first, assuring her husband that she already had too many mouths to feed, but ended up loving Margot anyway. And so it was thanks to a simple coincidence that the girl had a family. A family who loved her, more than she thought her biological father even had.

Sirius' death had occurred two years before, yet Margot had never shown to be affected by it. After all, she had only known Sirius Black for the first years of her childhood, and his reappearance in her life had been welcomed with tears of anger rather than those of joy. When he had died, she felt somewhat relieved by the fact that she would no longer have two people in her life to call "dad".

"I'll meet you downstairs when you're ready."

"Yea, sure."

As her bedroom door closed, Margot heard her stomach growling. _There's no way I'm eating and taking the risk of not fitting into my dress_, she thought to herself. The strapless dress that hung next to her bed swayed from side to side as Margot opened the window to let a fresh summer breeze in. She hurriedly removed her pajama shorts and shirt, took the dress off its hanger and slipped it on. She had a bit of trouble zipping it up, but finally managed with the help of her wand. To Margot's relief, the dress fit her perfectly. The ruffles that fell a little above her knees gave her a playful look, and the bustier showed off her elegant neck and small chest. The champagne color of the dress looked surprisingly good next to the paleness of her skin.

Once she had finished checking her dress for lose threads, she summoned a pair of black velvet pumps and slipped them onto her feet, holding on to the wall for balance.

Margot then opened her bedroom door and ran up two flights of stairs, reaching the one and only bathroom in the Burrow. As she had expected, the door was locked.

"Look, I don't know who's in here," she said loudly, "but I need to brush my hair so I can help the bloody bride get dressed!"

She heard the door unlocking and in an instant, she was face to face with her oldest brother, Bill.

"Is that _my_ bride you're talking about?" he frowned jokingly, placing his hands on his hips.

"Oh, sorry Bill. I um, I was in a hurry that's why… Anyway, I just need to use the bathroom for two minutes before I can get Fleur ready."

"Come in, I was just going to brush my teeth." Indeed, Bill was holding a bright red toothbrush in one hand and his wand in another. As he let Margot inside the sizeable bathroom, he noticed that she was already dressed. "You look really nice, Margot," he complimented.

"Thanks."

The bathroom had been magically transformed so that there were ten sinks, one for each member of the Weasley family. This facilitated morning rushes and avoided unnecessary bickering between the numerous siblings. A long shared mirror stood above all of the basins. Margot's sink was one of the neatest. She grabbed her brush and started to tame her should-length hair. After it was nice and silky, she applied rouge on her lips.

Meanwhile, Bill had finished with his teeth and was trying to magically cover the scars that Fenrir Greyback had left on his face. He seemed quite desperate, for as hard as he tried, they were still visible.

Margot couldn't help but look up to her brother sadly as she noticed his struggle.

"I'm a monster," she heard him whisper to the mirror.

"No, Bill, how can you say that?" Margot said gently while placing a hand on his arm. "She loves you, she really does. And it's not a few scars that will change the way she feels."

"Let's hope you're right."

Bill pulled her into a tight hug before quickly pulling away and looking at his watch.

"It's past two already, Fleur must be waiting for you!"

Margot smiled and left the bathroom hurriedly, making her way down the stairs to the second floor. She forgot to knock on the door and opened it before she could remember to do so.

"_Mon dieu!_ You scared me Margot!" exclaimed a young woman with pale blond hair. She was sitting at Percy's old desk, still in her nightgown. Behind her stood her mother, who was undeniably an older copy of Fleur.

"I am terribly _désolée_, Fleur, but your dear fiancé kept me waiting in the bathroom," replied Margot with a fake smile. She didn't feel any particular hatred toward her future sister-in-law, nor did she hold a grudge against her, but remained distanced from Fleur to stay on Ginny and Molly's good sides.

"Zat's alright, dear. _Maman_ 'as just finished 'air and makeup, would you mind 'elping with ze wedding dress?" Fleur asked sweetly.

Margot couldn't understand why the French girl was being so formal. Her parents were the only person who actually called her "dear". On top of this, Fleur was actually a year younger than her. Deciding to be polite nonetheless, Margot pointed her wand towards the long white dress that lay on Percy's bed, lifting it up.

She couldn't help but stare at the beauty of the gown. It was strapless, certainly simple and clean, with a cascade of carefully crafted ruffles that descended to the floor.

Fleur had already taken her nightgown off and was waiting behind the baffled Margot.

"Well, Margot? I'm getting cold 'ere," she pointed out rather impatiently.

It didn't take Margot and Madame Delacour long to slip the dress onto Fleur, and they were soon standing in awe in front of the magnificent bride.

"Wow Fleur – you look gorgeous," Margot couldn't help but compliment.

"Thank you."

Before any of the women had time to add another word, Mrs. Weasley hastily entered the room.

"Ladies, I wouldn't want to rush you, but it's time to go downstairs! The guests have arrived and they're taking their seats." The redheaded woman stopped, noticing the girls' attire. "You two look beautiful, by the way," she added to Margot and Fleur, who smiled kindly in return.

In a few seconds, the four women were making their way down the Burrow's staircase, Mrs. Weasley leading the way, Margot holding the bottom of Fleur's dress, and Madame Delacour ending their little cortege.

Charlie, Monsieur Delacour and the two bridesmaids were waiting in the kitchen. Ginny and Gabrielle wore short gold dresses, which fit them perfectly. Charlie and Fleur's father both sported formal wizard robes with white-collar shirts underneath and black bowties.

Margot could have sworn that Charlie winked at her as she walked up to him, and grinned sheepishly.

"You look handsome."

"I would say the same for you, but I believe that the correct term for women is 'ravishing', is it not?" he replied elegantly, in a tone that much resembled his brother Percy's.

Margot laughed, wondering why Charlie, being the handsome and respectable young man that he was, still hadn't found a girlfriend. _Perhaps he's attracted dragons_, she thought, smiling to herself.

Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour left through the kitchen door and scurried off to their seats outside, where a sea of whispers could be heard.

"I hope Fred and George saved me a spot," said Margot to her brother. "There's no way I'm sitting in the back – I'd rather sit on the grass than miss anything."

"Don't worry," replied Charlie. "I asked them to save you a seat in the front."

"Thanks."

As soon as the music started outside, the guests all quieted down. A waiter held the door open for Charlie and Margot as they walked arm in arm on the purple carpet that led to the altar. They both smiled dazzlingly at Bill, who returned a nervous grin. Margot spotted a free seat next to Fred. She separated from Charlie, who continued walking until he was next to Bill.

"Hey," whispered Fred.

Before Margot could reply, the kitchen door opened once more, revealing Ginny and Gabrielle. They both looked pretty – although Ginny looked quite uncomfortable in her dress.

Once Fleur finally came out, there was a series of "Ooh's" and "Ahh's" amongst the attendees. The sun reflected on her hair and – perhaps it was because of her Veela beauty – Bill's scars seemed to have momentarily gone unnoticeable.

Margot did not cry as the two lovers were declared husband and wife, but rather stood and clapped cheerfully, joined by Fred and George.

The three of them quickly walked over to Bill, and they were the first to congratulate him.

"I don't know how you do it, mate! I could never swear to spend the rest of my life with someone. Unless…that wasn't an Unbreakable Vow, was it?" George joked.

"Yea. I mean, just hearing the word 'commitment' makes me want to hide in Dumbledore's beard."

"Just because you two can't stay with a girl for more than two days doesn't mean that Bill can't!" laughed Margot once she had kissed her oldest brother on the cheek.

As she suddenly became quite thirsty, Margot left the crowded newlyweds' area and made her way to the drink buffet.

"I'll have a Gillywater, please," she asked the barman. He handed her the drink, which was served in an elegant glass. Margot thanked him and started walking towards a table, before dropping her glass because of what –or rather who – she had just seen.

"Reparo."

The glass instantly repaired itself on the grass and was picked up by a young man with short ash-brown hair. He handed it to Margot, who had her eyes fixed on the ground.

"They didn't tell me you were coming," she spoke softly.

"I didn't want to be impolite, so I came. I'm friends with your brothers too, you know," he said, twisting the glass awkwardly in his hands.

Seeing that Margot wouldn't start a conversation, he decided to do so himself.

"How have you been doing?"

"Fine", she sighed, smiling weekly. Although the girl was usually a good liar, she sounded particularly unconvincing at that moment. She decided raise her eyes, and they finally met his.

"You look very pretty, May," the young man tried.

"Don't say that, Oliver. Please, don't say that," she shook her head sadly.

He was the only person who called her May, a nickname that took the initials 'M' and 'A' of her first names, Margot-Adeline, and put them together.

The pair looked at each other sadly before someone called out: "Hey, Wood! Come over here and tell our Uncle Ham how you guys beat the Falcons last season!"

Margot gave Oliver a look, which clearly said "go" and he left, leaving her alone. She then remembered that she was at a wedding – not at a funeral – and sat down at the nearest table. Unfortunately, she recognized a voice that was most displeasing.

"What in Merlin's beard were you thinking, Margot-Adeline, walking down the aisle with Charles! All the guests thought you were his girlfriend! I had to explain to those trolls that he was your brother. You should seriously think about dying your hair red, perhaps that would clear up a few things."

"It's nice to see you too, Auntie Muriel."

"Well, you don't sound too enthusiastic," the old woman croaked. "Speaking of girlfriend, I saw you in the _Prophet_ the other day, so I cut the article out for you."

"I was in the _Prophet_? Funny, usually my name appears in _Witch Weekly_, under the 'Quidditch players and their ladies' section."

Muriel paid no attention to Margot's rather rude tone. She grabbed a nearby waiter by the shirt instead.

"Two Firewhiskeys! And if you take more than a minute, I'll make sure your mother never sees you again!" The poor man ran off with his serving tray, causing the elderly shrew snort loudly.

"Ah, here it is," she said, taking a piece of paper out of her little tweed purse and handing it to her great-niece.

Margot took the article and smoothed it out on the table. She read it to herself:

_WOOD NEWLY SINGLE AFTER A 'BLACK' BREAKUP_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_It seems that since the beginning of July, the famous keeper of Puddlemere United and the daughter of the dangerous criminal Sirius Black have broken up. The couple, which was considered as flawless by so many witches and wizards all around the country, has proven that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship._

_Margot-Adeline Black, Hogwarts' resident heart breaker in her time, couldn't resist the charming Oliver Wood, most handsome young man of her year. The pair started dating in the summer of 1994, when Wood was hired as Puddlemere United's reserve keeper. It was undeniably looks and fame that attracted Black to Wood. As for the other way around, there is yet to find an explanation._

_In 1996, Black convinced Wood to let her move in to his Diagon Alley flat, a luxurious two bedroom. But the Quidditch star, who had by then been promoted to PU's resident keeper, found his girlfriend to be a distraction from his career. On top of this, Black's oversized family, the Weasleys, was extremely clingy – probably because they depended on his money to survive._

_Just this summer, Black put Wood's reputation in danger by repeatedly insulting the ministry, calling it "corrupt" and saying that the Wizengamot's decisions were a "big fat load of dragon crap". Percy Weasley, Black's closest brother and the Minister's own Junior Assistant, strongly affirms that "Margot's opinions were highly influenced by my family and Albus Dumbledore." It is therefore questionable whether or not the girl can think for herself._

_As for Wood, he refuses to go into the details of the split, although it seems that he is truly heartbroken. "There is a moment in a relationship when both people look at each other think 'I can't do this anymore'" he told us last week. "That's where we were. And Margot is a great girl, but somewhere we just went wrong."_

_Well ladies, it seems like Wood could be this year's number one eligible bachelor!_

_(To read more about Quidditch score results, go to page 12)_

A photo of Oliver and Margot holding hands in Diagon Alley followed the article.

"That bloody _skank_!" she exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud for the nearest guests.

The waiter had just returned with two firewhiskeys, which he placed furtively on the table. Margot took hers and gulped it down, the heat of the liquid and the strong alcohol mixing with her rage. Rita Skeeter had already written a few articles about her and her father, but this one was too personal.

"_Resident heartbreaker_? He's the _only_ guy I've ever dated!"

"Really? No offense dear, but that is a bit sad. Here, take mine," she remarked casually, offering her own drink to Margot.

"Thanks." The girl drank it all at once, making a face as she finally took in the full effect of the firewhiskey. "And Percy's interview? What in the name of Merlin is he doing chatting it up with reporters? What a git. That Skeeter hag has no idea what happened between Ollie and I. She has no right to…to…"

Margot's rage with interrupted by the clearing of a throat. She turned from the table furiously, glaring darkly at Fred.

"Woah, calm it down, Medusa", he said, backing away with his hands up. "I was just gonna ask this pretty lady if she wanted to dance."

"Oh. In that case, I'd love to", she replied, taking her brother's arm as he led her to the dance floor.

Margot loved all of her siblings equally, but each for different reasons. Fred, for instance, had the magical ability to make her feel better in a moment of deep anger or sadness. He never asked any questions, and was the living example of the saying "Live in the present, not in the past".

"You should really start calling me Prince Charming from now on. Lest I remind thee that I hath just saved thou from the dreadful dragon Muriel."

"Right, thanks," Margot smiled.

They danced to Celestina Warbeck's "Your Stunning Lips", and later to the Weird Sisters' energetic "Do The Hippogriff". Fred pointed to Charlie, who's dance partner was a good-looking blonde, probably one of Fleur's French cousins.

"Hm. I'm guessing he's not into dragons after all," commented Margot. "I just hope she's not too much like Phlegm – imagine having two of those at home."

Suddenly, the both of them heard the hollow sound of Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice, and the guests all froze in horror of his words.

_"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one! Today is my birthday! :) Thanks to everyone who added this story to their Favorites and/or Story Alerts.**

**Don't forget to review to tell me what you think. Am I going too fast?**


	3. Knowledge is Danger

**A/N: Thanks to those who added this story to their Story Alert! I'm so sorry for the wait, hopefully the next chapter won't take as long as this one to be posted.**

**I'm not one to beg, but comments and feedback are always nice. ;)**

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**Chapter Three: Knowledge is Danger**

Instantly, panic arose in the garden. Some silhouettes were starting to disappear, while others called out to their family members in despair. The young woman could only grab her younger brother by the shoulders and make sure that he heard her.

"Fred, stay with the rest of the family, I'll be right back!" she yelled.

"Just don't get yourself killed!" Fred pleaded.

He scampered off towards Ginny and George, who were already making their way inside the house as the garden was emptying of its guests and filling up with tall wizards in dark capes.

"Oliver! Oliver!" desperately screamed Margot, avoiding jets of light and horrified figures.

"Margot!"

She spun around and impulsively ran into the young man's arms, pulling him down behind a buffet table for safety.

"You have to leave! They'll hurt you, Ollie, please just leave," Margot whispered, her hands now placed protectively on his soft temples.

A questioning expression of adolescence still marked Oliver's face. Margot had missed it. In fact, she had missed it all; the fervor with which he talked about Quidditch, the gentleness of his words, of his hands, of his smile.

"I can't just leave."

"If you love me, and-" She paused, realizing that she was actually gazing into his hazel eyes for the first time in months. "And if you trust me – I know you do – then go. Tell your family to move to another country, they'll be safe there. I'll be fine."

He looked at her worryingly, but nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and finally disapparated.

Margot was left alone, staring lingeringly at the spot where Oliver had stood a few seconds before. He was safe- it was all that mattered.

She rose slowly and looked around her. All of the guests were gone. Chairs had been knocked over; glasses lay broken on the ground. The only thing that Margot could hear, aside from her own heavy breathing, were distant voices coming from the Burrow.

"Those bastards," she cursed, slowly approaching the home in which she had lived for so many years.

_BAM_. Before she knew it, Margot was thrown to the ground by an invisible force.

"Trip jinx, Black."

She sat up, facing the man who had so easily overpowered her. Thorfin Rowle. She'd never met him personally, but had studied his file as a member of the Order and vaguely remembered what he looked like. Abnormally buff and blonde was most certainly the best way to describe him. Much like Voldemort's other partisans, his countenance was somewhat deranged and his mouth curved itself into a wicked smile.

Margot sighed and raised her arms up in defeat, dropping her wand on the grass before her.

"Good girl," the Death Eater taunted. Ropes appeared around the young woman's wrists, uncomfortably tying her hands together behind her back.

"So why aren't you with the rest of 'em ginger blood traitors, hm?" he asked, pulling Margot up by the arm while firmly pointing the tip of his wand against her neck.

They started walking towards the house. She didn't answer, but prayed to Merlin that he hadn't seen Oliver.

The sun had started setting a few minutes beforehand, and it was getting more difficult to see outside. The Death Eater pushed the kitchen door open. Inside, a dozen black-caped strangers circled the Weasley family. Molly, Ginny, Mrs. Delacour, and her daughters sat at the table, fearful expressions on their faces, while the men stood rather protectively around them.

"Ah, there's the last of 'em," said a voice coming from a malicious-looking man.

"Actually, we're missing one. Where's Ronald Weasley? Second youngest?"

No one answered. Rowle raised his wand at Mrs. Weasley, causing her sons and husband to clench their fists. Margot knew that it would be useless to fight – Ron was gone, hopefully safe, and they might as well put their cover-up to good use.

"He's sick," she stated plainly, giving the imposing man a dark look.

"You silly girl. It's just so easy, isn't it, saying that someone's sick and getting away with it. You think we'd actually believe you?"

Margot was about to retort when George unexpectedly beat her to it.

"He has spattergroit," he announced loudly. "Now, unless you _idiots_ don't know about the most contagious disease of the wizarding world, I think you'd understand why he wasn't at the wedding – which you totally ruined, by the way."

"I'd advise you to keep your blood traitor mouth shut, one-ear. So where is he?

"In the attic."

"Lovely." Rowle looked up to the staircase for a split second. "You," he said, letting go of Margot's arm and pointing his wand at Mr. Weasley. "Show me where your son is. If he's not up there, don't even think about seeing your children again."

Mr. Weasley seemed to have a slight moment of hesitation, but after seeing the rest of his family's looks of approval, he led the Death Eater to the staircase. As the sound of his footsteps diminished and an odd silence reigned in the kitchen, Margot reminded herself to thank her brothers for their clever decoy.

The departure of her captor allowed the girl to take a better look at the strangers surrounding her family. All of them were men, some older than others. But what really struck Margot was the mix of Death Eaters and ministry officials. There was tension between the two groups: Voldemort's followers stood confidant and prevailing, while the functionaries looked rather uncomfortable. Clearly, they were not yet adepts of the Dark Lord's newly imposed regime and were only at the Burrow to protect their own families.

A Death Eater cleared his throat loudly, causing one of the ministry employees to take a piece of parchment out of his front pocket.

"By order of the new Minister of Magic, Pius Thickenesse, we have the right to search this property and to interrogate each and every one of its inhabitants. If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear. Resistance will not be tolerated."

The bald man's voice was trembling and uncertain – it was clear that he had never been on such an investigation before.

"I'll take the newlyweds," spoke the Death Eater who had cleared his throat. "Nott, take care of the bastard girl with this guy," he said pointing to a dull-looking worker.

Margot was confused. The so-called Nott, who she estimated to be in his mid-twenties, grabbed her arm and led her out of the kitchen. Surely this was not Theodore Nott, one of Voldemort's first followers who would have been at least seventy years old by that time.

The young man almost dragged Margot towards the staircase. He paid absolutely no attention to the ankle that the girl had painfully twisted during her fall. Once that they had reached the first floor, Nott asked:

"Which one's yours?"

Margot nodded to her bedroom door, which was on their right hand side, next to Bill's. The Death Eater swiftly opened it and pushed the girl inside.

"Sit," he ordered.

Soon enough, the ministry worker had also entered the room, making the tiny space unusually cramped. Margot sat on her own bed while the functionary had made himself comfortable, or so to speak, on a wooden stool facing her. Nott, on the other hand, chose to lean casually against the girl's tall wardrobe and started to play with the drawers' pulls as if he was terribly bored.

The worker introduced himself, weakly stating that his name was Collins. However, Margot was too busy glaring at Nott to mark his words. It was only when Collins actually opened his briefcase and removed a heavy file from it that he managed to get a hold on the young woman's attention.

"Wow, Fred and George always joked about the ministry giving me a criminal record by principle, but I never thought that it'd actually be this big…"

"Oh spare us, will you? Collins asks the questions, you answer them," the Death Eater ordered.

"And what are _you_ here for, Nott? Has your father retired, or has Voldemort finally decided to freshen up his entourage?" Margot tried not to shift under the young man's condescending gaze. She felt the sudden need to provoke him, to bring shame upon his haughty face- and once the girl had her mind set on something, it was usually hard to stop her. "For being a pureblood, you certainly have no manners. Your mother ever taught you to introduce yourself to women, or did she die before she even had the chance?"

Margot certainly knew how to hit a Death Eater's soft spot. It was like asking Bellatrix Lestrange if her obsession for Voldemort had anything to do with the fact that she wasn't getting any from her husband: an easy insult. Of course, Margot had never found the occasion to do such a thing, but swore to herself that the time would come.

And indeed, Nott took offense in her words. He threw himself onto the young woman, helpless because of her tied wrists, and tightly pressed his hands against her fragile throat. Margot struggled for air, but Collins' state of panic and his ", !" cries seemed to have won the Death Eater over, for he had released her within seconds.

Little did it matter to Margot if her chest ached and if she could only breath in jagged pants: she was satisfied with Nott's mere humiliation. The young man stepped back to his original spot, he too catching his breath.

"You have no idea what I'd do to you, Black, if the Dark Lord gave me his permission. You deserve to die and the most cruel and demeaning ways – and it's only a matter of time for that."

This time, the girl did not reply. She had forgotten about her brief content towards his defeat and noticed something extraordinarily familiar in Nott.

"You think you're so brave, but you're just a filthy little bastard. That's all you are," he continued. "I even heard your traitor of a father only married your untouchable mother as an act of rebellion. When one is born to such a disgrace, wouldn't they rather live without a mother at all?" he asked, speaking more to himself than to his two listeners.

And there it was: Nott reminded Margot of none other than Tom Riddle. She had seen him in the Pensieve many times. Not only were the two young men alike physically, with their dark eyes and hair, but also in their attitude. It was clear that Nott was ambitious, and Margot guessed that he was a brilliant student. Just as Riddle, heritage and blood seemed to be of the greatest importance. And they were both impulsive – Nott had been so quick to attack Margot in reaction to her mild teasing.

Collins sat awkwardly on his stool. It was as though he did not belong in the room. After a few seconds, however, he opened the file and spoke in a shaky yet professional way.

"Your name is Margot-Adeline Charlotte Emily Black, you turned twenty-one on July 16th. Occupation: event planner, education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Birth parents: Sirius Black, pureblood, Gryffindor, and Charlotte Hayes, Muggle. Molly and Arthur Weasley adopted you on November 10th,, 1981, after the imprisonment of your father, murderer of Peter Pettigrew, and the death of your mother. Is this correct?"

"Given the fact that I'm not especially in the mood to argue with you, then yes, that is correct."

"You were sorted into the house of Gryffindor and obtained all of your N.E.W.T's. Some of your closest friends are Mudbloods-" she noticed the shaking of his voice- "and you have been a member of the Order of the Phoenix for three years."

"Yea."

Margot became distant again, for she was now busy observing Nott as he opened random drawers and smirked to himself.

"You don't really live here, Black, do you?" suddenly asked the young man.

Margot frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Nott, I'm not quite sure where you are going with this," Collins hesitated.

"Can't you see? Her drawers are all half-empty. It doesn't take a genius to figure she's got stuff someplace else," he said calmly to the official.

"I lived with my boyfriend until June, so I left some of my belongings in his flat. But that's none of your business anyway and it has _nothing_ to do with what you're looking for," she explained, still glaring darkly at Nott.

"Right, well let us get back to the point then, shall we?" Collins paused. "Miss Black, do you know where Harry Potter is?"

"No."

It was a determined negation, one not to be argued with.

"Does anyone in your family know?"

"They haven't got the faintest idea either."

Both answers had been expected. The ministry employee sighed and rubbed his forehead before closing the file: he would probably not be receiving a promotion anytime soon. Margot also noticed Nott clenching his jaw – he too had vaguely hoped that she would reveal Harry's whereabouts.

"That will be all, Miss Black. The minister would like you to know that you are being watched, and hopes that would will change your mind and cooperate with us," said Collins as he got up from the stool and left the room.

Margot, surprised, waited a few instants before making her way out as well. Nott, whose presence she had forgotten, almost immediately threw her against the wall, keeping her still with his forearm.

"Look at me, Black. The Dark Lord wants answers, and if you don't give them to him soon, then we'll be forced to _make_ you answer."

She tried to fight him off, or even find her wand in her dress pocket, but was unsuccessful. This only made the Death Eater snicker as he whispered in her ear.

"We wouldn't want your little Wood to get hurt now, would we?"

"Oliver's ten times the man that you are. If your master wants answers, he knows where to find me. I'm the one that should be harmed, not Oliver," she managed to choke out.

Nott backed off and turned to leave, clearly amused by the girl's words.

"You have three months to give us what we want. We'll decide of your darling's fate after that. I would stop playing hero, if I were you."

* * *

What happened the previous day was all blurry in the Weasley's minds as they sat together at the kitchen table the next morning, this time safe from Death Eaters. They barely spoke, aside from the basic "Are you alright?" and "What did they want?" questions. It turns out that they had all gone through the same procedure: a confirmation of their personal facts followed by the question of Harry's location.

Most of the family had clearly not slept well – especially Molly and Fleur, who could not even seem to swallow their tea. Arthur had an arm wrapped protectively around Ginny, although she did not look as affected by the attack as his wife. The Delacours sat on each side of a very hungry Gabrielle, who had not been asked any questions due to her lack of comprehension of English.

The oldest children remained very grave, and talked amongst themselves every now and then. Margot, who had no desire to speak about the wedding's interruption, quietly ate her buttered toast, taking as much time as possible in order to keep her hands busy.

"What happened out there, Margot? You could have fought Rowle in the garden, but you didn't," said Charlie, immediately causing everyone's eyes to focus on Margot and himself.

His sister quickly swallowed the piece of bread that was in her mouth.

"What for? They would have searched for me if I had escaped anyway. And they wouldn't dare have hurt me," she replied rather calmly.

"In case you've forgotten, you're a known member of the Order! And on top of that, you're probably the person in England who criticizes the Ministry the most! I'd say this puts you in a great deal of danger! They see you as a threat, one that must be eliminated! Yesterday was a close call, Margot. I'd say you better watch your back," advised Mr. Weasley.

"You don't understand," sighed Margot, realizing that her family was unaware of her complicated situation. "They think I know where Harry is, that's why they can't kill me. Trust me, otherwise they would have done that a long time ago."

"But that's crazy!" cried Molly.

"Well, do you know anything?" asked Ginny, a slight hint of hope in her voice.

"I don't know where he is, but I know what he's trying to do out there."

"How? None of us do, and I don't see why you would!"

"Dumbledore told me. He asked me to come to his office last year; he said he had an important mission for me. He showed me memories of You-Know-Who in the Pensieve, and explained the only way to kill him to me. I was really confused, until he told me that I was to be a part of his plan. He said that I needed to distract You-Know-Who while Harry was on his mission, and to do so, I had to pretend to know where he was. Dumbledore thought that You-Know-Who would capture me and try to get the information out of me – information that we all know I don't have. This gives me the chance to send little Voldie in a completely wrong direction, creating a diversion of some sort."

There was a silence. Margot, relieved of having finally made this confidence to her family, could not entirely fathom why everyone – except the clueless Gabrielle – was staring at her in such shock.

"Are you aware of the danger that you're putting yourself in, young lady? Do you know what You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters could do to you?" shouted .

"Dad, I've thought this through," explained Margot. "I know what I'm doing. It's for everyone's own good, Harry will never make it otherwise."

"So let me get this straight," started Fred. "You're giving your life away to You-Know-Who just so your name will be in the next History of Magic textbook? I knew you were brave, Margot, but that's just a load of reckless bullshit. How do you think we feel about this?"

He'd gone too far. She crossed over to the corner where he was standing until her face was only inches from his. They stared at each other coldly.

"I never asked you for your opinion, Fred."

Margot darted to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She then sat on the floor, back against her bed, and wrenched the shoes off of her feet before burying her face in her palms.

"Margot."

It was Bill. He sat next to his sister and put an arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

She looked up to him sadly, eyes swollen.

"No, Bill, _I'm_ sorry. I should have told you. You're my family after all," she said with a week smile. "I didn't expect you to understand. But I have to do this, I have to."

"Hey, nobody's forcing anybody here. And I'm sure Harry doesn't need a diversion, it's not absolutely necessary for you to hold off You-Know-Who."

"I'm not only holding Him off – I'm supposed to lead Him in the wrong direction. If I pretend that I know where Harry is, then they'll believe whatever location I give them."

"Is that why you left Oliver?" suddenly asked Bill.

Margot looked as though she had been taken off guard: he had obviously hit a point.

"My mission had noth-"

"Don't lie to me, Margot."

She was defeated. Bill, the eldest and wisest of the Weasley children, could easily detect his siblings' habit of deforming reality.

"I'm just a bloody idiot," she sighed. "I thought that maybe if I stopped seeing him, then he wouldn't get hurt. But now it's worse for the both of us. I didn't even tell him about the mission- he doesn't know."

"And you still love him, I can tell."

The girl wrapped her arms around her legs and held them tight, much resembling a child.

"I'm sorry about your wedding. It was still lovely," stated Margot, changing the conversation. "You should probably get back to Fleur now. I could use some time alone."

Bill nodded, got up and quietly left the small room.

Margot lay on her bed with her eyes open. She had often done this as a child, at times when she felt incredibly lonely. It wasn't that the Weasley family had not properly welcomed her, but quite the contrary: the girl needed moments of peace to relax from all of the activity in the house. The silence was reassuring; it was something that Margot could control. It enabled her to hear footsteps, movements, conversations. It enabled her to think.

So there she was, thinking. He had kissed her. Only the cheek, though, but Oliver had kissed her. Margot smiled. Perhaps he was on his own bed, thinking of the same thing. She turned to her bedside table and opened the small drawer with a weak movement of the wrist. Inside, she felt the cold metal of a medallion across her palm. The young woman then rolled to her other side, holding the locket firmly across her chest.

And she listened.

* * *

Margot spent the rest of August having fruitless conversations with Ginny in the family's garden and reading various books for which she clearly held no interest. She'd taken the rest of the month off, and even though it was really her family that she wanted to stay away from, she decided that it was best to relax until her hectic job resumed.

During this time, Bill and Fleur bought a pretty cottage in Tinworth, refusing to leave on a honeymoon at this dangerous time. Charlie had returned to Romania, despite Molly's strong disapproval and fear for her son. As for Fred and George, their shop in Diagon Alley had been forcefully closed, yet they continued to send out Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products from the Burrow. Kinglsey, Tonks and Lupin, who all looked even more exhausted than usual, sometimes joined them for dinner.

Her father came home later each night, recounting increasingly worrying stories about the ministry. Muggleborns were being rounded up, interrogated and sent to Azkaban. General panic reigned amongst ministry workers, but according to Arthur, no one really rebelled under the constant fear of being arrested.

If there was one thing that remained the same as before, it was that Margot continued to have her usual nightmares. And there was something about these dreams that she could not grasp: if Harry, Ron and Hermione were going to save the day soon, then why was she still having these terrible visions of Oliver dying?


	4. Pitiful Percy

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who subscribed! Please let me know if anything is unclear in the story, in which case I will rewrite some parts to make them more understandable.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Pitiful Percy**

"Here's the guest list for next week's party. Gary wants you to send out all the invites. He said something about being super careful – this _is_ the minister's welcoming gala we're talking about after all."

There was a light _plop, _shortly followed by the sound of clicking heels on hardwood floor.

"Great, thanks."

Margot stared blankly and tiredly at the file before finally reading its cover.

_Guest list for Minister Thicknesse's Gala_

_(September 20th, 1997)_

_Total number of invited: 638_

_Carter's Event Planning Svc._

_I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. Okay, this isn't working,_ she thought, rubbing her eyes. She grabbed the grey folder that Audrey, her co-worker, had just dropped on her desk.

It had never been in Margot's plans to become an event planner. Like most witches, she had once dreamt of working as a Healer at Saint-Mungo's, wearing their famous lime green robes and saving strangers' lives – and as an intelligent young woman, she possessed all the potential to do so. However, she unexpectedly ran into the event planning company's owner at Puddlemere United's welcoming party for Oliver, and Gary Carter offered her a "once-in-a-lifetime" opportunity, assuring her that she wouldn't find better pay elsewhere. In the end, even though working in the company did not exactly match Margot's academic capabilities, she still enjoyed making people happy – and getting free tickets to the wizarding world's best concerts.

"By the sad, sad look on your face, I'm guessing your vacation didn't go too well."

Audrey worked at a desk adjacent to Margot's, so that they sat face to face. This made it strictly impossible for them to hide anything from each other– whether it was the food they were having for lunch or simply the look of fatigue on their face.

"At least I actually _took_ a vacation," answered Margot as she put the folder down. "You never take any time off- and do you realize that our salary is still exactly the same?"

The young woman shrugged.

"I had nothing better to do. All my friends were on some tropical island, I'm desperately single and the only weddings that _I_'ve been invited to are the ones I've planned. Plus, summer is our busiest season, I can't let the company down," she explained rather seriously.

"I should set you up with Percy," snorted Margot. "Or perhaps you're not _that_ desperate," she laughed as she saw the grimace on her colleague's face.

Audrey Price was a tall woman, who, on top of her height, had the tendency to intimidate men by walking in five-inch platforms. She usually wore pencil skirts to work, despite their office's flexible dress code, and her sandy blonde hair either fell on her chest or was tied into a neat and silky ponytail. She specialized in weddings and conventions, while Margot was mostly responsible for concerts and cocktail parties. The both of them had started working in the company at the same time, even though Audrey was a year older. The two women often worked as a pair and got along fine despite their different personalities.

"Speaking of you brother Percy...aren't you supposed to meet him up for lunch today?"

"Shit I totally forgot- sorry," she added sheepishly, noting Audrey's scornful look. She strongly disapproved of curse words. "And how do you even know that?"

"Oh, his owl dropped a letter on my desk this morning. I thought it was for me, so I opened it. Here," she said, handing a little envelope to Margot. Before opening it, she took notice of the multiple stamps that covered the packet, which read "Approved by the ministry" and "Legal content". Apparently, even the minister's closest employees were subject to a mail inspection – or was Percy now being watched as closely as his siblings?

Her brother's handwriting was the closest thing to perfect that Margot had ever known – aside from Oliver, that is. She loved how Percy took the time to engrave each and every curve of his letters. The "W" was her favorite.

_My dearest Margot,_

_I hope you haven't forgotten our plans for lunch today._

_I'll meet you in the Ministry Atrium at twelve o'clock._

_All the best,_

_Percival Weasley_

_Jr. Assistant to the Minister of Magic_

_PS: Please try to avoid getting noticed, we wouldn't want to attract any more negative attention as it is._

Margot sighed. She had absolutely no desire to go to the Ministry, where she knew she wasn't welcome. Coming across Death Eaters and racist officials was not what she had looked for in her first day back at work. She looked across to Audrey, who had already plunged into her paperwork. Deciding to do the same, she opened the file on her desk and took out her quill and letter parchment. Over the years, Margot had found the perfect strategy to write a great amount of invitations without tiring: she would first write a sample letter, leaving out the names of the guests, then copy it using a multiplication charm, until all that she had left to do was write down the names of all the invitees.

This whole process took Margot a little over an hour – mostly because of the long list. Once that she was done, she put all of the letters in envelopes, which she then sealed with the company's logo.

"Well, I'm off to post these, so see you later."

Audrey did not reply but instead nodded slightly, her eyes remaining glued to her assignment. _Out of all the people in the world, why in Merlin's beard do I chose workaholics as part of my entourage? _Margot said to herself, grabbing her bag and throwing it over her shoulder.

* * *

Diagon Alley looked more deserted than ever, despite the pleasant autumn weather. Stores' windows were broken and pieces of glass still lay in the middle of the street. Some of the least attacked shops even had various posters promoting Muggle-born hunting.

The places that she used to spend hours in, Florean's Ice Cream Parlor, Gambol & James...all were closed. Gringotts, the Leaky Cauldron and the Quality Quidditch Supplies were part of the few stores that had remained in business. Margot wondered if she should go check on Bill at the bank, but quickly decided that it was best not to bother him.

It was the most destroyed shop of the alley that attracted Margot's attention as she walked by. Number 93. Magically written graffiti covered its windows, some reading "Blood-traitors", others "Deserve to die". The girl's heart sank. A dismantled door revealed the ravaged inside of the place that had once been her brothers' joke shop. The Death Eaters had been looking for something. Luckily, aside from Pygmy Puffs and fake wands, there was nothing to be found.

Margot stepped into the tiny owlery located across Ollivander's old wand shop. Her ears instantly filled with chirping sounds and her nose tingled with the strong smell bird food. Hundreds of owls of all breeds and colors stood perched on wooden planks suspended to the unusually high ceiling. She was the only client, and had to ring a bell on the counter in order to be served.

"Good morning Mr. Ward," she greeted as the shopkeeper came out of his office.

"Why hello there, Miss Black. Come to send some letters, have we?"

Mr. Ward was a middle-aged wizard, well known for owning the cheapest wizard post office in all of London. He even gave special discounts to Carter's Event Planning, since Gary Carter had been one of his best clients for years.

"I have six hundred and thirty four letters, all for random celebrities and Ministry workers. How much will I owe you?"

"Fifty four Gallions and we'll call it a deal."

"Great."

"You can go hand the money to Casper, over there. It's not that I don't trust you, but my eyesight is quite terrible these days." He bent over and spoke in a lower voice: "You see, I'm trying to include my son in the family business, keep those roots running."

"I understand," Margot smiled. She left the bag of letters in Mr. Ward's hands and moved over to another counter, where stood a young man with longish brown hair. He looked up to the girl as she approached him, barely revealing the dark tired eyes hiding beneath his bangs. She recognized him from being a year above her in Hogwarts, though they had never spoken once.

"Hi," said the girl as she handed the Gallions to Ward's son.

He stared at her in amusement and let out a scoff. "So you're still alive then?"

"Pardon me?"

"Your family's house was attacked last month, wasn't it? I just thought – you know – you haven't really been on the ministry's good side lately, and they could have killed you," he whispered while taking the money, making sure that his father was busy attaching the letters to owls.

"Look, _Casper_, I don't want to sound impolite, but unless actually I know you, that's none of your business."

"You think you're so smart, don't you? Member of the Order, if I'm correct. Well let me tell you something, Miss Black, we too are working against this You-Know-Who madness, and we're _far_ more advanced than you are."

"We?"

"The Rebellion."

"The Rebellion? _So_ original." she laughed. "Yea, I've heard of you guys. A group of amateurs, trying to sabotage the ministry?"

He pursed his lips. "We're more effective than you think. Just last week, I rescued twelve Muggleborns from a group of Snatchers."

"Snatchers?"

"Not so smart now, are we? Still so much to learn..." he taunted, victorious.

Margot tried to keep a strong face and shot an angry look at the young man. She turned around and made her way to the door.

"Oh, and, by the way," she added with a devilish smile before leaving the shop, "I'm _definitely_ alive."

* * *

Minutes later, Margot had already apparated inside a bright red telephone booth. Making sure that no Muggles were in sight, she quickly dialed the numbers 6-2-4-4-2.

"Please state your name and reason of visit," a voice called out from nowhere.

"Margot Black, visiting brother Percy Weasley," she announced blandly, already starting to get annoyed by the government's customs.

A small silver badge popped out of the coin slot. The young woman attached it to her cropped blazer while the telephone booth commenced its descent into the Ministry.

Her father had told her of the drastic transformations in ministry policies, but nothing could have prepared Margot for what she saw when the elevator doors opened. There were lines of people, men and women of all ages, waiting for their turn in front of a ministry official. The workers seemed to be checking the civilians' papers and directing them to different directions.

Margot had not been to the Ministry in a year, but had strolled in the Atrium enough times to know that the "Magic is Might" statue was recent. As she got closer, she bit her lip: the statue represented a wizard and a witch sitting on an assemblage of Muggles. Disgusted by the sight of the horrific sculpture, the girl quickly turned away.

The Muggleborns were being watched closely by a handful of dirty-looking men, all imposing. They circled around their captives like vultures.

_So these are the Snatchers_, thought Margot. She vaguely searched the oversized hall for Percy, but he was nowhere to be seen. And even if he were in the Atrium, it would have been impossible to spot him because of the chaotic crowd. The young woman decided to make her way to the front desk.

had also mentioned Eric Munch, the man who worked at the ministry's front desk. According to her father, he was not the most helpful person in the world. Margot remembered this as she approached his booth. He was visibly worn out and could use a good shave.

"Hi, er, I'm here to see Percy Weasley. He said that he would wait for me here but-"

"He owled me asking you to meet him downstairs instead. 'Parently he's late 'cause of a meeting. May I check your wand, please, miss?"

Margot retrieved her wand from her front pocket and handed it to Eric through the hole of his window.

"Is it like this all the time, now?" she asked while he examined it.

Eric did not answer immediately for he had not understood, at first, what the girl was referring to.

"Yea. You should've seen 'em yesterday. I could swear there were hundreds of Muggleborns in this very hall," he replied in a hushed voice. "But I don't complain. No one complains. Who wants their family sent to Azkaban?"

Munch looked over Margot's chestnut wand for a few more seconds, making the young woman wonder how exactly he was supposed to detect dark magic by simply staring at the wooden stick. The man finally gave it back to her with a tired smile.

"You're all set. Weasley's on level one."

"Have a nice day."

"I'll try."

Margot headed to the magical lifts. She pressed the down button, asking herself why there was an up button if there were no higher floors. And then she remembered- there was the Department of Mysteries. Sirius' death place stood only one floor above her. No, Sirius Black was not her father; he was not 'dad'. They shared the same last name, but aside from that, he only portrayed the man who abandoned his wife and daughter. One to die, the other to become an orphan.

The door of the lifts opened and Margot was detached of her thoughts. Three wizards came out of the tiny mobile room, while others stayed to descend into lower levels. The button for Level One had already been pressed, and the young woman simply stood amongst the other employees, feeling slightly out of place. One man in particular, a tall wizard with an old-fashioned mustache, stared directly down at her. She had seen him before – and he was apparently thinking the same thing.

One or two wizards would leave the lift at every floor. The mustache-man, however, did not. He remained standing at the same spot until a voice finally called 'Level One' and the doors opened. Margot waited for him to leave before her, since he was closer to the exit, but he moved to the side instead.

"After you," he gestured, making the young woman even more uncomfortable. She nodded, trying harder than ever to recall whom this mystery person could be.

"Ah, ! I was waiting for you. There are some matters that I wish for us to discuss in my office, if you will." The girl froze, realizing that the new minister was staring straight at her. "Weasley, you are dismissed. I see that you have company," Thickenesse added in a chilling voice.

She had been so taken aback that her brother's presence next to the public figure went unnoticed.

Margot could not seem to think clearly, her vision obstructed by the mustered thoughts in her brain. So this was the new minister, Voldemort's puppet? And Macnair, he could roam about freely in the government offices. Since when had the Death Eater escaped from Azkaban? How was it possible, after a year of prison, to be in such good health?

Luckily, the young woman was able to hug Percy as soon as he was within her reach, giving her something else to do than to stare at Thicknesse.

She released her brother and smiled gleefully at the sight of his freckle-covered face. Percy clenched his jaw gravely, his eyes looking distant through their horn-rimmed glasses.

"What's wrong, Perce? Aren't you happy to see me? It's been what, six months since our last date?"

Margot often called their get-togethers 'dates', which really implied that Percy was single and spent more time with his sister than with other women. The girl hoped that this would push him to search for a girlfriend.

"Three months, actually."

Boy, had she missed him.

"Whatever. Shall we get going, then? It's not that I don't absolutely _love_ this place, but I have a busy afternoon."

They boarded the lift together. This time, Margot felt safer, not because Percy could have defended her in the event of danger, but mostly because he was the minister's head assistant, which gave him a fair amount of respect and authority.

"Where would you like to eat?" The exited the lift together. "I saw a good-looking Vietnamese on my way to Diagon Alley the other day, perhaps we could try that," Margot suggested.

"I'd rather go to the Leaky Cauldron, if you don't mind," said Percy, looking nervously around them as though he was expecting a Hungarian Horntail to cross their path.

"Well, I do mind," objected his sister as she brushed past the crowd toward one of the grand fireplaces. "In a perfect world, women should be the ones to-"

"In a perfect world, Margot, we wouldn't be avoiding these blood-thirsty bastards right now."

_At least he's on our side_, thought the girl with a sigh. In other circumstances, she would probably have made a remark about Percy's 'prefect world'. She mentally cursed the Death Eaters for ruining a perfect joke.

They landed inside Leaky Cauldron a few seconds later. The inn, which Margot had passed by earlier that day, was perhaps the most intact location of all Diagon Alley. Unsurprisingly, it had lost many of its clients since Voldemort's return, and it would have been exceptional for the tavern to receive more than five patrons at once.

Tom, the old barman, gave the pair a toothless smile as they walked in, causing two witches to turn and stare at them. Aside from Percy and Margot, they were the only ones in the pub. The lighting seemed even dimmer than usual and many tables had not been cleaned in weeks.

Percy pulled out a bar stool for his sister. She sat on it and ordered two teas from Tom. The bartender nodded and left to prepare their beverages. Margot tiredly dropped an elbow on the counter and rested her head on her hand before looking up to her brother expectedly. He cleared his throat.

"Look, I'm sorry we couldn't go to that place you were talking about. I can't be seen in Muggle-frequented areas – Thicknesse might not take it too well," Percy apologized.

"I guess I understand."

Tom arrived with two cups of tea on a tray. The young man and woman thanked him as he placed the drinks on the counter, warning them that it was hot. "Otherwise, how's work? They seem to have you on a tight leash."

"Same as usual – under a different management of course. I still organize the minister's day, take notes at his meetings…that routine is pretty much unchanged And everyone at the ministry thinks I hate the rest of the family, so I'm not written down as blood-traitor. I just hope they don't make me prove that." He took a sip of his tea but burned himself, and immediately placed the cup back on the table. "What happened when they attacked the other day?"

"Well, they round us up in the kitchen, and decided to interrogate us. There was an odd mix…Death Eaters and ministry guys. They asked us pretty basic questions, but I could tell that they only wanted to know where Harry was. Oh, and I got to meet Nott's son – charming young man." She let out a derisive laugh.

"Did you know that they have a file for everyone now? It gives a person's blood status, their location, affiliations…

Margot nodded. Percy seemed to hesitate about what to say next.

"Is the family alright?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes. They're- a bit shaken up, but who wouldn't be. I've never seen Bill get so angry about something."

"They hate me, right? They think I'm the biggest git in the whole universe. Especially Fred and George. And dad won't even look at me in the eye anymore. It's crazy, I see him all the time at work," the ginger lamented.

"Perce, I don't think that your own relatives can actually hate you. They just don't understand. It's as awful for them as it is for you, trust me."

"I just wish they knew. I wish they knew that deep down, I'm not a bad person, that I despise the new regime, that I want to save the Muggleborns," he whispered, making sure that no one was around. "And I can't join the Order, it's too late for that."

"Would you really fight against the ministry, become a double-agent? It's a dangerous job, Percy," she said to him seriously.

"Anything to save these people."

His sister looked at him thoughtfully, but the miserable expression on Percy's face forced her to give in. She knew that he didn't have an easy life. Despite his fast ascension and high position in the political world, Percy barely made any money. His flat was small and sad-looking, and he never had any time to himself. Helping him out was the least that Margot could do.

"Alright. I might know someone who can help. His name is Casper Ward – and you better be writing this down, I'm not repeating it twice." She waited for her brother to take out a piece of paper and a quill out of his briefcase. "Go to the owl post down the Alley and ask for Casper. He's the owner's son, and he's part of a secret group called The Resistance. He seems to know quite a bit about what's going on, so just tell him that you work for the ministry and that you can help. If he gets suspicious, just say that I sent you."

Percy took note of this information vigilantly, sending frequent looks around the pub. Afterwards, he and Margot talked about their school friends for a while. One friend in particular, Eliza Hemmingway, had left England with her Muggle family just in time to escape the Snatchers. According to Percy, the hijackers had arrived at Eliza's house the minute she pronounced Voldemort's name. He warned his sister about this new taboo: anyone who dared defy the Dark Lord's rule would be found and sanctioned.

When they judged that it was time to return to their respective occupations, Margot hugged her brother and they left separately. A pleasant, light drizzle had begun to fall outside. Margot spent the rest of the afternoon choosing the color scheme and menu for the upcoming gala. Eventually, she showed them to her boss, who barely checked over her work. Mr. Carter approved of the choices and sent Margot out of his office, insisting that he could not be late to his meeting with Dolores Umbridge, where they were to discuss the unrolling of the gala.

* * *

"Eric said he saw you at the Ministry today," stated her father at the kitchen table that night.

It was a quiet dinner: the twins had gone to eat with Angelina Johnston and Lee Jordan, which left Margot alone with her parents and Remus. had prepared an apple crumble for desert, which Margot ate while she read the day's newspaper.

Ginny had left to Hogwarts that morning, and Mrs. Weasley seemed slightly uneasy.

It was as though it was her first time sending off a child to school – when she had actually been through the process for over a decade.

"Hm?"

"I said: Eric saw you at the Ministry today," Mr. Weasley persisted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Oh, yes," the daughter confirmed, her mind busy reading the _Daily Prophet_. "Has anyone read this nonsense? How in Merlin's beard are Muggleborns supposedly stealing magic from wizards?"

No one replied. The only sound that could be heard was the one of self-cleaning dishes.

"Margot, I don't mean to be nosy, but what exactly were you doing at the Ministry?" asked Remus sternly.

"I was…confirming the final details for the Gala in two weeks. You know how perfectionist those politicians are," she immediately lied with a fake laugh.

"Right," nodded the werewolf, completely buying her tale.

The last thing that Margot wanted was for anyone to know that she frequented Percy. The truth would definitely not have been taken well.

The little group's quiet dinner was suddenly interrupted by a tapping sound on the kitchen window. Instantly, Arthur and Lupin rose to their feet. Margot raised her eyes, she too trying to figure out where the noise had come from.

"It's alright! It's just an owl!" exclaimed . She ran to the window, but her husband pushed past her and opened it himself. Arthur let the owl inside. It was pale grey and its yellow eyes circled the room calmly.

While Mr. Weasley busied himself unwrapping the unexpected delivery from the bird, Margot searched the pantry for owl treats.

"Margot?"

"Yes?" She fed the pretty owl and faced her father, who was now opening the mail.

"There are two letters – and they both come from your company."

Margot frowned, but instantly relaxed as she recognized Audrey's round handwriting.

_Hey Margot,_

_Sorry if I'm bothering you, but there's something that I forgot to tell you at work today: Carter wants you to attend the ministry event. He says it's important for our reputation to have the guests be welcomed 'properly'. I'll have to be there too, so don't worry. Do you have anything to wear? I was hoping that we could go to Madame Malkin's sometime in the next two weeks to get some dresses fitted._

_See you tomorrow,_

_Audrey_

_PS: You can bring someone along if you wish._

Margot sighed. Just when she had sworn to never place a foot into the corrupt world of wizard politics again, she was once more forced to be a part of it.

"Are you invited too?" she asked her father, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yes," he replied. "And perhaps it would be best for me to go. I've done enough to upset the ministry…ignoring the new regime's first event would be most unwise of me."

Mrs. Weasley rubbed his back affectionately and he smiled back at her.

Their adoptive daughter yawned and started walking toward the Burrow's staircase, waving goodnight at Lupin on her way. Her father's anxious voice soon made her turn around.

"You've seen the guest list, Margot. Are there-"

"Death Eaters? Loads of them. But not the worst though – they'll only be there for intimidation. I guess You-Know-Who's saved the tough ones for last," she answered tiredly. "Goodnight."


	5. Remember to Forget

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! Happy Holidays to all of you faithful readers! :)**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Remember to Forget**

The next few days included a decent amount of work for Margot and her co-workers. Not only did they have to finish organizing the minister's gala, but they had also engaged themselves into planning a Weird Sisters concert- a task that was ultimately placed in Margot's hands.

It was September 15th and London seemed gloomier than ever in the girl's eyes. An unstoppable rain had put Margot in a touchy mood, one that Audrey had been fully conscious about while making her decision to go try on dresses on this particular day. The clever co-worker thought that going out would perhaps lighten up Margot, who kept denying her murky disposition.

The two young women arrived at Diagon Alley in the late afternoon, following their boss's consent to their shopping trip. They walked quickly without words, listening to the splashing of their rain boots on the cold pavements. Audrey avoided puddles with great care, while Margot carelessly kicked right into them. She had not heard any news of Oliver in weeks and now overlooked the immaterial idea of shopping – an activity that she usually craved for.

Madam Malkin's shop mainly consisted of mannequins, purple-curtained changing rooms and an over-decorated desk. Rolls of fabric randomly leaned on the heavy wallpaper, immediately characterizing the store as one selling clothes.

The old woman herself showed up to great her only clients. Margot smiled at Madam Malkin's well being: despite her age, she paid a particular attention to her physical appearance. Indeed, the lady wore a simple emerald robe, which seemed to restore twenty years of her advanced age. She also bore a tired smile on her face, and her bottomless blue eyes were filled with sagacity. There was something heart-warming about the shopkeeper: perhaps it was her relief of not being visited by Death Eaters, or the joy of finally having clients after a long and unproductive day. This, Margot could not discern.

She let Audrey do the talking and watched quietly as Madam Malkin directed her friend toward a rack of dresses. With a flick of her wand, the shopkeeper lifted a bright scarlet gown off a hanger so that it floated graciously in the air. Audrey nodded at the sight of the piece of clothing and Malkin levitated the dress to a changing room.

While she waited for Audrey to try on the garment, Margot absentmindedly stared through the Palladian window. A small group of Snatchers walked across the uninviting street outside, their soaking cloaks shining with humidity. One of them looked at her for a split-second, squinting to see past the rain, and the girl clenched her jaw.

Margot's distraction was suddenly interrupted by the soft voice of Madam Malkin:

"Those folks don't know what they're doing."

Margot was about to retort, for she clearly thought differently, but Audrey came out of her cabin looking more magnificent than ever. The one-shoulder dress possessed a delicate flow and was just long enough for the young woman's height. Its color accentuated her fair skin and light hair, yet somehow, Audrey seemed to have mixed feelings about the garment. Decidedly, she could never be happy.

"Audrey, you look amazing!" exclaimed Margot, more as an encouragement than a compliment.

Madam Malkin bore a proud smile on her face, taking in the success and beauty of her item-child, and rushed to her client to fit the chiffon in its loose spots.

Meanwhile, Audrey stood patient and motionless, eventually glancing at Margot.

"Are you going to the gala alone?" she asked, trying very hard not to move.

"Yeah. I mean, I guess it's better that way. Anyone who escorts me will probably be murdered the next day," Margot laughed gloomily.

There was no answer, perhaps because of Madam Malkin's need for immobility at that particular moment.

"How about you? Got a man for the night?"

Audrey shook her head desolately. Margot, on the other hand, was suddenly illuminated by an idea, which, she thought, would be brilliant.

"Hey, I think I might have someone for you," she said excitedly. "Do you trust me?"

"Fine," chuckled Audrey at her colleague's unexpected enthusiasm. "But promise me it's not Percy – that would be just awful," she added in a warning tone.

Margot smirked. "Don't give me any bad ideas. No, I was actually thinking about a guy I met the other day. He's handsome, smart and kind of mysterious- you'll like him."

Madam Malkin finished making the necessary adjustments to Audrey's gown before making her turn to show off the garment, earning a new set of compliments from Margot.

Audrey thanked the witch designer as the latter wrapped the crimson gown. Margot then picked out her own dress – and was scolded by Audrey for its color.

Despite their strong desire to stay inside and avoid the rain, the pair was soon out of the clothing store and back into the cold street. Margot, decided in the pursuit of her sudden idea, told her friend that she had some letters to post and once again made her way to the owlery.

* * *

The usual chirping sound of the owls echoed around the soaring walls of the shop. This time, however, Mr. Ward was nowhere to be seen. The cash register rested lonely upon its desk, and some owls seemed fast asleep. Margot further looked over her surroundings, slowly taking her wand out of her jeans' back pocket.

"Hello there! My name is Hope, how can I help you?"

Margot jumped in sudden surprise, searching for the origin of this little voice.

"Over here!" the girl's voice spoke again.

The young woman finally found the child, standing under a counter far too tall for her.

"I won't hurt you, you know," she said, making Margot notice that her wand was still out protectively.

"Sorry, uh, Hope. Are you- is here?"

"Not at the moment, no. My father has some business to attend. But he said that I could post letters while he was gone! So, how can I help you?"

The little girl must have been around six or seven years old, with a cute trumpet nose and hazel hair. The fact that she took her assignment so seriously amused Margot, who had been the same as a child. In reality, she did not have anything to send, but would have felt terrible about leaving Hope clientless.

"Well, I don't have any mail for you, but there _is_ something else I could use help with," she spoke with a great effort to use her most enthusiastic voice.

Hope's eyes immediately lit up. Score.

"You're Casper's sister, right? Would you mind telling me where he is? There's something important I need to tell him about."

"Of course, he's upstairs!"

"Upstai—"

Before Margot could add anything, the little girl took her by the hand and led her through a back door that read "Employees Only". Hope then motioned to Margot to climb up the stairs first, which she did without questioning.

The girls reached the apartment located on the upper floor. The top of the staircase opened up to a large room, full of light, which seemed like an airy version of Grimmauld Place. It was entirely decorated with antique furniture, but in a tasteful fashion that was quite intimidating and beautiful at the same time.

"What are you doing here?"

Margot's attention was turned to the figure now walking toward her- and Casper Ward did not look pleased.

"I…your sister brought me. I need to talk to you."

He noticed Hope smiling brightly behind Margot and immediately calmed down—most certainly to look kind in front of the girl.

"Hope, go to your room," he ordered nicely to the child, glancing at her quickly before gazing back to Margot.

Hope did as she was told, skipping off into a chandelier-lit corridor.

Casper seemed tired. Had he gone off to some secret mission the night before? This Margot was not in a position to ask.

"If you've come to apologize, then I'm afraid it's too late."

"Apologize? And for what, exactly?"

Casper must have thought that she was lying, and seemed angry for a reason that Margot was simply unable to discern. The postman's son walked over to the farthest cream-colored sofa, sat and crossed his arms.

"Let's see. Just the other day, I was working in the post office downstairs and guess who walks in? Your ministry-loving brother! He asked me if he could join the Resistance, that bloody turncoat. And the worst part is, he said _you_ sent him. Care to explain, Black?"

At last, Margot understood the cause of their misunderstanding.

"Casper, he's on our side. You can trust him, I promise. But, you sent him off then?"

"Damn right, I sent him off! You can't just go around giving random people my name, especially ministry employees!"

"It wasn't any random person! He's my brother and I know he means well. Look, the Resistance doesn't have any ministry insiders right now, I'm sure of that. Percy is your best chance to accessing _very_ delicate information."

Margot was so persistent that she made Casper feel as though his only solution was to yield to her wishes.

"Fine, tell him he's in," he sighed.

Casper thought that he had shaken Margot off, that perhaps she would now leave, but he was once again terribly wrong: she had not yet completed her mission. The young woman let her bag and raincoat fall on a nearby armchair and sat straight across from Casper.

"But that's not why I'm here. As you may or may not know, there's an important event happening in five days in honor of Thickenesse."

"Yeah, I know. I'm guessing you're invited?"

"Yes, and now I'm inviting you."

"What?" he frowned.

"Consider this my apology—although it's more like my second favor to you…"

"Are you crazy? My file is pretty clean right now, and I'd rather keep it that way."

"You won't be going with me, silly, you'll be going as my colleague's date. It'll be totally foolproof. All we have to do is pretend that we don't know each other."

Casper seemed unconvinced.

"Going to that gala is your perfect opportunity to find names without getting noticed," insisted Margot. "That's what you guys want, right? Names, addresses, anything to hurt You-Know-Who's followers, to take them down one by one?"

Margot had hit the right spot, and the young man appeared thoughtful as he reflected on her offer.

"And what's the worse case scenario?"

"There is none. Nobody knows who you are, remember?"

He thought again.

"Alright, I'll do it. But I'm fully conscious of the fact that you're only using me to do your little spying because you can't use anyone else in the Order."

"I don't need 'your little spying', Casper, I've got Perce. I'm doing this to help you and your little mutiny."

"So you believe in us then?"

Margot rolled her eyes. She noticed a large photograph of a jolly-looking couple hanging on the wall above Ward's son. The young woman approached the print and instantly recognized Mr. Ward himself, standing beside a witch that Margot supposed to be his wife.

"You sure look like your mother," she commented with a smile. "Your sister, on the other hand…well, she might have a bit of your father's nose, but otherwise—"

"Hope's not my sister," Casper butted in.

This resulted in a puzzled expression from Margot, who awaited an explanation from her host, one which the latter was apparently indisposed to provide.

"Who is she?"

"It doesn't matter."

He stared at her straight in the eye in an attempt to get his point across.

"I want to know," said Margot softly, her glowing pupils returning the look.

Finally, Casper shook his head while letting out an exasperated sigh: this was not his favorite story to tell.

"My mother died ten years ago, from a terrible case of Dragon Pox. My father, the man you always see in the store, then met a nice lady called Amelia Bones. She died too, last year. But I'm sure you know about that."

He rushed through this information as though he were reciting the common content of a history textbook. It took Margot a few seconds to absorb everything the young man had just said.

"Amelia Bones was your stepmom? I—Merlin bless that woman. I'm guessing Hope was her daughter."

He nodded. Margot took a seat beside Casper on the sofa and gave him a compassionate semi-smile.

"And now my father and I are taking care of her. She's a good kid, little Hope. Always wants to help everyone with everything. It's been a tough year for her."

He hesitated.

"Dad doesn't know that I'm part of a resistance movement—he'd kill me if he found out. If we get taken away to Azkaban, or worse, then who knows what'll become of her."

There was that empathetic moment again. The little girl was singing in her room- some old song about a warlock's gloomy tale. For a couple of seconds, Margot and Casper sat in silence, listening to her distant tune.

"I should go," broke the young woman once that Hope had finished. "Here's the info for the gala. Meet me at the entrance, we'll go over a few ground rules before the doors open." She paused after having dropped a small card on the coffee table. Casper remained seated on the dark sofa, but nodded slightly in accord. "If you ever need anything, just let me know," added Margot.

She took her jacket and bag from the leather chair unto which she had dropped them, using a non-verbal spell to dry off the raindrops left by her soggy belongings.

"I'm an adult, Margot, I don't think I'll be _needing anything_," he reminded indignantly.

The girl looked back to him with a soft side-glance. He knew what she had meant.

"I doubt there's someone home while you're out doing your little business and your father's working. Let me know if you need me to take came of Hope, okay?"

* * *

Margot laid on her bed once more, an activity that had become a daily pattern over the past weeks. She would come home from work, not quite exhausted enough to sleep, but just enough to drop down on the fresh white covers, letting her mind fade into utter blandness.

Remus had just returned from Grimmauld Place, and the girl could hear him quite distinctly as he spoke to Molly and Arthur from the living room. The werewolf seemed drained and vanquished. Apparently Harry had not been so kind to him, and called him a coward of some sort. Margot quickly realized that she should not be eavesdropping and tried to drift away on a different thought. She had always possessed a great deal of sympathy for Remus, who acted as though he was an uncle of some sort. But he often seemed disappointed in Margot, and she knew exactly why: having been best friends with Sirius, Lupin expected her to behave the same way as her biological father. The young Black performed brilliantly at school – yet not effortlessly so. She was not funny, but rather sarcastic, and always mature, unlike the childish Sirius.

So Margot tried her all to differ from Sirius, but ultimately failed in one dominating way, for both father and daughter had the common flaw of pride. Of course, arrogance ran in the Black family tree for generations on, as it did in most pure-blood families, but Margot and Sirius' pride was different. They mined their self-respect from the simple reality that they were unlike the other Black's. Both glowing Gryffindors, anti-Voldemort and lusting for change in the wizarding world, they embodied the perfect opposite of their long-established relatives.

The young woman sighed and sat up on her bed, casually crossing her legs pretzel-style. She retrieved her wand from the wooden bedside table close by and gently opened the locket resting on her chest. A small beam of light came out of the necklace, and that light itself seemed to be coming from the silvery liquid inside. For a good ten months now, Margot had been retrieving memories from her head and storing them in the piece of jewelry.

She would not store just any memory, but only the ones which could possibly reveal that Harry Potter's whereabouts were unknown to her. It was Dumbledore who had advised the girl to do this, insisting that Voldemort would be able to see every single thing that had ever happened to Margot if she kept the memories, no matter how skilled she was at Occlumency.

Storing a memory would not mean completely erasing it from the mind – for that could potentially turn out to be knotty. Instead, the recollections would simply be 'unavailable to public', keeping them away from anyone but Margot, unless the locket were ever discovered.

Margot raised her wand to her forehead, strongly thinking about what she had just heard. She then pulled the wand away from her skull. A silver filament floated in the air: the living proof of Remus' words. She gently dropped the memory in the hollow locket and closed it shut.

_Most useful present ever_, thought Margot, smiling as she wondered how easy it would have been for Voldemort to find everything he needed if she did not have the necklace. But this was not entirely true, for Margot could have chosen any spherical object for the purpose of hiding memories. Why that locket? It did not possess any sort of powers, none that the girl knew of anyway. Oliver had bought it as a gift for Christmas in 1996- nothing special aside from its ounce of sentimental value.

Little did she know, that simple locket would soon become the heart of Voldemort's problem.


	6. The Gala

**A/N: Long time no post! How long has it been, a year? :D I'm so terribly sorry for the wait, I just couldn't finish this chapter for some reason. Gosh, I really feel like I've let you guys down. Anyway, here's chapter 6; hope you like it. The next chapter should feature a convo between Oliver and Margot, and hopefully it won't take me a year to write! haha :D Happy holidays!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Gala**

Calling the venue for minister's gala 'chic' would certainly have been the biggest understatement in wizard history. In fact, Margot couldn't help but feel slightly agoraphobic as she stared blankly at the five-dozen tables facing her. The location that Gary had rented much resembled an opera, especially because of its tall draped velvet curtains and crystal chandeliers that could make anyone feel uncomfortable just by looking up. House elves hustled around the grand hall, fixing flowers or fetching the few porcelain plates that were still missing on the royal purple tablecloths.

Margot was standing near the only rectangular table in the room, which had been reserved for the minister and his murderous sheep. There the politician would later proceed to making his toast, speech, or whatever it was that he wanted to say. It wouldn't matter, really, for the guests would all be listening. And watching. And clapping.

"Is this alright, Miss Black? I hope there aren't too many stars on the table. My, what would the minister think about Berry then?" worried an elf that had silently approached her from behind.

The young woman looked over the tiny silver stars that had been spread out at the centre of the table around large candles. She sighed, tired from having given the poor creatures directions all day. The elf must have taken her sigh as a reproach, for he soon started hitting his own head with his tiny hands.

"Oh, stop it, Berry, will you? Your stars look fine, I'm just exhausted, that's all," explained Margot.

She heard someone else coming up from behind her, turned around and said:

"Can't you house elves ever do anything on your own? I'm an event planner, not the bloody pet sitter!"

To Margot's immediate surprise, the person facing her was definitely not a house elf. Far from that: it was her boss.

"Oh hi there, Gary," she began, embarrassed. "Sorry about that, you know how they are…"

Gary Carter looked at his employee with a slightly raised eyebrow. The forty-something year old wizard was usually the type of person whom one had trouble taking seriously (over the years, Margot and Audrey had come to the conclusion that it was because of his childlike eyes and the fact the he couldn't stay humourless for less than five minutes). On that particular day, however, Gary's dress robes and slicked back hair gave him a certain flair: he actually looked like he was in charge of something.

Casper Ward was standing right behind Gary, he too in dress robes. He seemed to find Margot's situation amusing.

"What do you think, lad?" Carter asked the young man. "Should I fire Miss Black for complaining on the job or make her wash the dishes after this night is over?"

Casper smirked and pretended to think intensely.

"I don't know sir. I would make her wash the dishes, but using her hands of course."

The boss laughed- it really wasn't that funny. "Well, Margot, seeing as you're pretty much done here, and _mortally_ exhausted, I'll be leaving you two. Remember to be at the front door by eight!"

"Hey, thanks for making it," Margot said to Casper as he waved to Gary.

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm not doing this for you," he replied, turning back to her.

"No, I meant: thanks for being my friend's escort. She's pretty desperately single."

He shrugged. "I get to go out with a pretty girl _and_ build info for my vendetta schemes."

They pulled some chairs out from the nearest table, producing a grimace when they realized that Dolores Umbridge and Phillip Yaxley would soon be in those same silk-covered seats.

Margot went over the safety rules that Casper was to follow to avoid any awkward and/or dangerous situations. One, he had to remain with Audrey at all times, unless he had to use the loo. Two, he would not reveal any information about himself. Three, he would not talk to anyone unless the engaged him into a conversation first. Four, he would not say anything daring or out of place.

"Are we done here, mother?" he asked Margot sardonically once that she had finished speaking.

"Yeah. What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "Seven thirty."

She leaned over and looked at the timepiece herself. "It's seven thirty-_three_. Rule number five: don't miss any detail."

After having given the room one last look, Margot stood and pushed her seat back. "I'm going to get dressed. You stay right here. Audrey aught to arrive soon, just introduce yourself when she does."

The young woman returned fifteen minutes later in a little black dress with a v-shaped neckline and feathers on the bottom. She had tied her hair into a bun, and made many efforts to make it appear neater than usual.

It turned out that Audrey and Casper were sitting together at the VIP table, and had begun to chat innocently while Margot had gone off to change. They seemed so into their conversation that they barely noticed her coming.

"I see you two have met."

Audrey turned on her seat to face her friend, her cat-eyes sparkling happily.

"I was just making sure that everything was ready…"

"…Because you know I never do my job…"

"…and I came across Casper here." She smiled at him, and the returned her gaze to Margot. "You look great, by the way."

"Thanks, so do you."

As though he wanted to prevent the two young women from going on about their outfits and makeup and other such girly conversation subjects, Casper blurted out:

"It's seven fifty-eight. I don't mean to rush you, but-"

Audrey stood, making sure that her bright gown would not get stuck anywhere.

"Casper, you can come with us if you'd like. After all, Margot _did_ make you swear that you wouldn't leave me all evening," she said maliciously, causing Casper to snicker in response.

"Hey, you've been taking the piss out of me while I was gone, haven't you!" scolded Margot.

"Well, I'm not the one who made up a list of safety rules for a grown man attending a dinner party," laughed Audrey.

The guests started arriving a little after eight, and were all dressed to the nines. Margot and Audrey stood behind some sort of a reception counter, like the ones that could be found in restaurants. They both shared a list of the guests; Margot would check people and make sure that they were on it, while Audrey would accompany them to their table. Casper waited patiently beside the girls, acting rather calm but carefully observing the guests nonetheless.

It was not the first time that the event planning company had been organizing a gala for people that Margot disliked. She usually took great amusement in pretending to be a snob and talking nonsense with groups of pretentious strangers. Along with Audrey, she would compliment witches wearing the most horrendous robes or drink with aspiring politicians that had a pea instead of a brain. That evening, however, was different. These evil people were actually taking over the country, and Margot had gone out of her way to help plan their very first gathering. The gala was real and serious, nothing to be proud of.

Margot tried to act impartial upon the appearance of various Death Eaters – it was in her morality to never start a fight during work hours. Therefore, Voldemort's partisans were all greeted with the same simulated smile. The young woman could tell that Casper was also holding back emotions, and was greatly relieved by this.

Her father had come to the gala alone. Margot knew that Molly had tried her best to make him look as elegant as possible, but Arthur's new brown robe was ill fitting, and fell too low for his size. He seemed to be in his element nevertheless, and if he was nervous, he sure did not show it.

The Minister himself arrived with the last few guests, twenty minutes after the announced time. He was escorted by Percy, who looked decent, aside from his usual exhausted complexion. Thickenesse had no bodyguards, but this was not surprising: the room was filled with Death Eaters and officials, so who would dare barge in with nothing but a wand?

A few minutes later, Audrey and Casper left arm in arm to make sure that cocktail serving was going smoothly, and that no house elves had yet attempted suicide. Margot decided to wait for any last-minute arrivals, because a few guests had still not been ticked off of the list. She glanced wonderingly at the large crowd that had formed in the ballroom behind her, watching as people laughed in small groups or conversed seriously.

"Nice dress, Black. Suits your name."

For a split second, Margot wondered to whom the voice belonged, but when she turned around to face its owner, it was instantly clear. Nott. His dark hair was slicked to the side, and he had the same dark look of malice as when she had first seen him at the Burrow.

"Quite the joker, aren't you?" she replied dryly. "What do you want?"

"I would like you to tick me off that list so that I can enjoy the gala like everyone else, but perhaps that might be asking too much," he said with a smile.

He was playing the smart-ass game. Luckily, Margot knew how to defend herself while remaining ethical.

"Give me your name, then. You're no different from any of the other guests here."

"Nott."

"Your full name."

Sure, Margot was crossing the line a bit. She could easily have found him on the list without knowing his first name, but she was curious as to what it was.

"Nathan Nott," he complied reluctantly with particular emphasis on his first name.

The young woman smiled victoriously before taking her time to look for his name. She made a small checkmark beside it and raised her eyes to meet his.

"You're all set."

The girl was clearly relieved, thinking that she had gotten rid of him for the night.

"Aren't you going to show me where my table is? That's also part of your job, right?"

Margot gave Nott an annoyed look, but closed the list and started leading him toward his table nonetheless. Other guests had started to sit at their designated seats, which meant that the dinner would soon begin. Surprisingly, the young man had been placed at a table very close to the Minister's. This only made Margot wonder why Nott was so important, aside from being a Death Eater.

Nott greeted everyone at his table as though they were old friends, despite the fact that he was much younger than any of them. He seemed very comfortable in the formal setting, but this was probably because rich purebloods were used to going to event like these.

"Sit," he said to Margot, who had been observing him distractedly and had forgotten to leave.

It wasn't an order. He wasn't forcing her to sit, nor was he threatening to pin her on the ground and choke her if she refused: Nott was actually _inviting_ Margot to sit next to him.

"I- I can't," she answered, surprised. "That's not my seat."

"What are you talking about, Margot? Your name is written on the plate, unless I am mistaken."

He was right: her name was written on a lovely golden tag. In fact, it was one that she had designed herself. Margot bit her lip. The entire table now stared at her.

"How about you, Miss Black?"

Margot quickly turned her head to face the man who was talking to her. Thickenesse had just finished his speech – a terribly long and predictable expression of hate against any race that supposedly prevented 'pure' wizards from living at their full capacity. Needless to say, it was all a load of repulsive nonsense to Margot, who had kept a close eye on Casper during the entire discourse to make sure that he wasn't outwardly reacting to it.

"Hmm?"

"Your impressions on the speech?" as corpulent and bird-eyed man had asked her.

"Oh." _Busted._ "Well, sir, to tell you the truth I only really heard the beginning and clapped at the end. But I'm sure it was very…interesting."

"Between us, my dear, I didn't pay too much attention to it either! You see, I'm only here for the food."

She responded with an uncomfortable chuckle, hoping that he would expect her to explain why she herself was at the gala.

" 'long as Mudbloods are killed, I'm happy!' Joppers continued. "I work at the Magical Law Enforcement, and let me tell you: there's nothing like seeing those filthy rats being sent off to Azkaban, their wives' and children's bodies pilin' up like trash."

Margot twirled her fork uncomfortably in her plate, the roast beef moving back and forth in its burgundy blood. She suddenly felt sick. These people made her sick.

"_I sure hope you're not considering barfing all over this table, Black. Just imagine what the press would say about you then."_

Margot flinched in surprise, but tried to contain herself before rest of the table. Noticing Jopper's confused frown, she smiled reassuringly at him before grabbing her glass and taking two small sips out of it. Margot waited until the man had engaged into a new conversation with his neighbour to slowly shift a pair of murderous eyes toward Nathan.

_Get out_, Margot thought as she clenched her teeth.

"_I quite like it in here, actually."_

Nathan was using Legilimency and she knew it. But why was Margot, a keen Occlumens, suddenly unable to keep him out?

How did you-

"Oh, it wasn't much of an ordeal. And the alcohol certainly helped- didn't you not notice the glass of red that I slipped in front of you before the appetizers?"

At that moment, Margot thought about standing up. By distancing herself from Nott, it would be nearly impossible for him to maintain the connection. On the other hand, he could follow her, and even if he didn't, the guests could find her sudden movement suspicious. And that was the very type of attention that Margot was seeking to avoid.

As if to discourage her to execute her idea, Nathan refrained from making any more irritating comments and silently finished his entrée.

In an attempt to free her conscience of personal thoughts, the young woman sat as still as possible in her chair. Her thin fingers intertwined awkwardly on her lap, and she had unconsciously lowered her face, which ended up staring exactly where it had started staring: at her plate's bloody meat.

"I'm here on behalf of the Dark Lord," finally whispered Nathan.

_No, really? _Margot thought. She had forgotten about the possibility that he could still hear her mind.

"I wasn't done."

"Oh sorry, Nott. I hadn't realized that it was illegal for a person to have sarcastic thoughts in their own mind. But please, go on."

"I'm here to remind you about our understanding."

Margot let out a small laugh and crossed her arms on the table, leaning over to Nott.

"Wine or no wine, you and I have never had _any_ kind of understanding, and we will never have any kind of understanding, _ever_. It's like goblins making deals with wizards – simply impossible."

"Well, I don't know what to call it, then." Nott leaned to her as well and let out a chilling whisper. "But all I know is that your dear Oliver won't be around for too long if you keep the Dark Lord waiting like this. He's already been generous and given you some time, so I wouldn't leave him on the line for much longer if I were you."

Margot straightened her spine and broke his gaze.

_You have no idea what it's like to be me. You don't know love; you only know desire and destruction._

"_I wasn't raised to know love. It's too late now, anyway."_

Margot looked back at him, but this time it was Nott who refused to face her. His eyes were fixed on his knife, which he turned slowly around his fingers.

But if Nott didn't know love, then how could he know she still loved Oliver?


	7. Not Leaving

**A/N: Thanks for the encouraging reviews! I really hate this chapter, but I had to write it. Hope you're not too disappointed, and sorry for it's short length!**

**Chapter 7: Not Leaving**

It was on October 4th, about two weeks after the gala, that Margot finally decided to go check on Oliver. She had considered writing to him ever since the event, but could never get herself together and find what it was exactly that she wanted him to know. She could have written a blatant "I still love you", or even opted for a subtler "I can't let you go". However, Margot was reluctant to write these words, mainly because she was the one who had broken up with Oliver in the first place. The best way say anything to him, she thought, was by talking to him in person. Hopefully, the right words would come out on their own then.

At her lunch break, she told Audrey that she might take a bit more time than usual, said a quick goodbye to Gary (who really didn't care how long any of his employees' lunch breaks were), and headed off in the streets of London. The wind blew all of the tree branches in the same direction, so much that it seemed as though a Dementor was sucking them away. It wasn't raining hard, but just enough to keep too many people from going outside.

Margot walked for about half an hour until she reached a decrepit soccer stadium. She climbed under the rusty and partially broken fence that served as an entrance. When she straightened up and looked at her surroundings, the soccer stadium had disappeared: she now faced a grandiose Quidditch field, whose polished aluminium bleachers reflected an unnaturally bright sunshine. A dozen players were flying high up in the sky, while half a dozen more sat or stood on the field.

Margot spotted Oliver at the nearest goals. She tried to watch him as he practiced protecting them, but gave up because the intense light quickly burned her eyes. Instead, she walked over to the group of men gathered around the field. Most of them were young, between the ages of nineteen and thirty, and they were more or less buff.

"What's with the weather?" Margot called out as she approached.

The jocks turned around to face the new arrival, and some of them seemed to recognize Margot. A broad-faced player, who really just looked like an overconfident adolescent, stepped up to her.

"Well, we thought that another bad day might actually make Number Nine feel more down than he already is, so we gave him something to look forward to today. You care to fix his mood for us, sweetheart, or are you just here to make it worse?"

The Number Nine evoked by the player was, as Margot very well knew, Oliver himself. She blinked twice at the aggressive young man, unable to find a response that would put him back in his rightful place. Luckily, another player stepped in front of the first. Margot had seen him once at a Puddlemere United afterparty – what was his name again? Jim?

"Oh sod off, will you, Brian? Drop the attitude or I'll tell the Whistler to put you back on the reserve team."

The so-called Brian seemed much less proud then, and walked away with his gang, leaving Margot alone with her saviour.

"Thanks for that," she said with an appreciative smile.

"Anytime. He's a real jerk, that Brian. Only reason he's on the team is 'cause he beats those bludgers like kids beat a piñata."

Margot didn't bother to ask what on earth a piñata could be.

"The weather's supposed to be like this for our match against the Woollongong Warriors next week. It has nothing to do with you or Oliver," he added reassuringly.

She nodded slowly in response. She knew that anyone having ever picked up a newspaper in the last few months had most certainly read about her situation with Oliver, but it never would have occurred to her that Oliver's own team-mates could gang up on her like that. She felt ashamed and, most of all, deceived.

Everyone loved Oliver. It was always Oliver this, Oliver that or 'Hey, Wood, can we get a picture of you with your girlfriend?'

Margot had always been _the girlfriend_. Not that she had minded it, though, for the nickname made people forget that she was Margot _Black_. Black. The word itself meant darkness, and was inevitably associated with her father. She was a criminal's daughter. She was Sirius Black's innocent leftover that was not dangerous enough to be avoided, but that must be approached with caution nonetheless. Sometimes Margot wondered whether the public saw her as Oliver's act of charity or as his companion.

And then came their separation. All of the presumptions regarding Margot were instantly confirmed: she was a sly manipulator, just like her father had been. But if only they knew that she was trying to protect Oliver. And if only they knew that she was trying to save _them_. Then, perhaps, things would be different.

"I can get Wood for you if you want; his break is in a few minutes anyway."

"That'd be great…Jim. Tell him I'll be somewhere up there," said Margot, pointing to the bleachers.

"Will do!"

With that, Jim was off.

When she watched Oliver practice, Margot usually sat way high up and close to the goals. The climb up the bleachers seemed longer than normal that day, each step pulling laboriously on the girl's leg muscles. She stopped at row 31 and, out of reflex, chose to sit in her customary seat.

All of the Quidditch players had landed and gotten off of their brooms. Water bottles suddenly appeared in their hands, and the young men drank from them ferociously as their coach came out from the locker room door.

"Jim told me you would be here."

Oliver sat beside Margot, his heavy uniform making a loud clump as he landed on the seat. He was slightly sweaty from the practice, and was slowly bringing his breath back to its normal pace.

"I tried to write you a letter," Margot began softly, playing with her trench coat's belt.

She didn't know what to say to him. Had she ever wanted to tell him anything at all anyway? Oliver certainly didn't help; he only looked at her occasionally to see if she would ever continue speaking.

"I just – I just wanted to make sure that you were safe, and that you had moved to another country like I had told you to, but apparently neither is true," she finally said.

"My parents and Laura set off for Spain last month. They're well and secure, apparently," Oliver replied abruptly.

He then tore his eyes from Margot's and focused his gaze on the players below. It was almost as though he knew what the girl would ask of him next.

"Oliver?"

Margot took his hands in hers, hoping to gain his attention back.

"Ollie you have to go with them, please."

She felt her voice quiver. Could she hear herself? Margot had never acted so pathetic as she had in the past few months. Oliver must have felt it, and took advantage of her weakness to reiterate his position – that same position that he had been pronouncing to her since June.

"Why should I go if you're still here? I'm not a Muggleborn, I've never been out of line, _and_ I'm on a regional Quidditch team, for Merlin's sake! There's absolutely no reason for anyone to try and hurt me, except perhaps for our rival teams' supporters…"

"There's me."

"They wouldn't just go after me because -"

" – because I love you? Yes, that's _precisely_ why they would go after you! That, and because I'm not giving them what they want. Don't you get it, Oliver? I know things, things that Tom Riddle can't learn from _anyone_ else, and my resistance is the only obstacle standing in his way. He wants to use you to break me, and here you are, just out in the wide open, waiting to get hurt!"

"I'd rather die knowing that I stood by something I love than die running away from my fears."

Margot shook her head and repressed a scoff.

"You're being ridiculous," she affirmed. "This isn't a fairy tale, Ollie. This is war, and you're putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Who do you think you are, a knight in shining armour? Because let's face it: you're more in my bloody way than anything, right now!"

Perhaps Margot had gone too far. She wanted him to understand how much she cared for him and how important it was for him to hide, but was getting ahead of herself.

"But isn't that how you're going to die on your little suicide mission? Standing by democracy and human rights? That's what you really love, isn't it?" Oliver retorted crossly.

This time, it was Margot who looked away.

"You're just buying time for Harry, aren't you?" Oliver continued. "Margot, if you're worried about me, then imagine how worried I am about you. I haven't slept in months, I can't even look at anything in the apartment since you've left. It all reeks everything we've ever had together. I tried to throw stuff away, but I- I don't know, it's just all the more empty. It's been hell without you."

Oliver's voice trembled slightly. Margot looked back up to him. Two tears had rolled down to his jawbone, and she wiped them lightly with her thumb.

"Hey," she whispered sadly, bringing her other hand up to his face and looking into his soft-colored eyes. He kissed her gently, quickly. When Margot pulled back, she fell into uncontrollable sobs. It was cruel. His lips had reminded her of everything, and as he drew himself away from her, she felt as though she had been ripped from an fleeting moment of happiness amongst the darkness of her current life.

The sat beside one another for a few minutes, which, unlike the common cliché, felt like ages. Could they spend the rest of their lives there, on these bleachers, in this stadium secluded from the hostile world? No, that would be too simple for Margot, far too easy.

She took a deep breath.

"I'm not going to die," she said. "And when I come back, when this bloody mess is over, I want you to return right here beside me."

The saddest thing about this is that, for an instant, Margot truly believed that Oliver would finally comply.

"I'm not leaving," he said dryly. "I'm can't, I'm sorry."

Margot quickly released his hands and stood.

"Have fun in Australia," she said in an unexpectedly hoarse voice.

"What?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

"Your match against the Warriors next week," she explained to a seemingly confused Oliver.

"We don't ha-"

She cut him off.

"I must have gotten it confused with something else, then."

Margot turned and left, hands in pockets. She felt her eyes burn and her mouth dry out, but continued walking nonetheless. Whatever pain love could bring, she was only starting to feel it.


	8. Muriel's

**A/N: And yet another chapter that I'm not too proud of... Oh well, the next two will be better.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Muriel's**

Margot was more than miserable. She was guilty. It was her fault if anything happened to Oliver, her fault if he wouldn't leave.

The Weasley's had moved out of the Burrow, which Kingsley had judged as unsafe. Having no closer relatives than Auntie Muriel, the large family decided to settle at this old woman's house. Muriel had lived in her small mansion in Devon for at least seventy years, and for that same amount of time, perhaps for even longer, the mansion had been left unchanged.

Much like the Black family's residence, Muriel's was overly garnished. The mansion was decrepit on the outside, and climbing plants had invaded every one of its facades. The garden surrounding it had been left unattended for years. Few were those who knew the actual size of Muriel's remaining 'fortune', but one glance at her home was just enough to reveal the modicum amount of money that she possessed.

Inside the decaying mansion, every wall was covered up with some dark and heavy wallpaper, and some even bore dirty tapestries. A putrid smell of mouldy fabrics roamed about the rooms, and would instantly get to any guest's nose as they came in through the unwelcoming entrance.

The only upside of the house was its size. Indeed, the entire Weasley family could have fit into its many bedrooms. However, this was one of those situations in which Margot would have preferred quality of quantity: she would gladly have been roommates with Charlie, Fred and George if it meant escaping the repulsive yellow sheets and intimidating canopy bed of her designated room.

This unpleasant environment that Margot was now forced to consider as her home resulted in her taking longer work shifts. She stayed at her events for the longest time possible, sometimes even helping the elves tidy things up, in an attempt to arrive at the mansion just in time for bed. In the morning, she would wake early and often eat at a café, thus avoiding monstrous Muriel and her hair-curler-filled head.

It wasn't just Muriel that Margot was avoiding, though. Charlie had resigned from his post in Romania to be closer to the rest of the family, and both Fred and George had been forced to abandon their store. This meant that the three of them, as well as Molly, were to remain in the mansion the entire day – a situation that anyone would try to avoid.

Margot hadn't spoken to them about her conversation with Oliver. She once thought about writing to Percy, but was it even safe to send him anything anymore? And Margot didn't want to involve Audrey in the situation either, because it would put her in unnecessary danger.

Danger. Was Margot in danger? She had often asked herself this since her first warning, after Bill and Fleur's wedding. _If Riddle really wanted to interrogate me, he would have done so a long time ago_, she thought. But yet again, there was no rush for Voldemort. He had the entire ministry wrapped around his long, pointed fingers and, Margot had to admit, things were really working out for him. People were genuinely scared. Hell, even Margot was scared. Would she get another warning, a _third_ warning? And then what?

She returned to the mansion one evening and noticed that the kitchen lights were still on. Perhaps Muriel's house elf was still busy cleaning dishes. Turning her key slowly, she called out, "Foily, is that you?"

Margot heard a chair move in the kitchen and something fall in the sink. She moved into the entrance hall, avoiding the long dangling chandelier, and made her way to the left. Then, she entered the kitchen.

Arthur was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in hand. He still wore his work outfit, which consisted of an outdated beige suit, white shirt and burgundy tie. Molly stood just in front of the sink. Her hands were still wet from having cleaned something, water dripping from them onto the smooth antique tiles below. Both husband and wife carried a look of exhaustion, one from work, the other from extended desolation, and neither managed a smile as their adoptive daughter walked in.

"Hi Mum, Dad," Margot said as pleasantly as she could.

"Oh Margot, we're so worried about you!" her mother exclaimed as she ran toward the girl and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Mum, where is this coming from?" Margot asked, surprised. "You know that I'm perfectly fine; you have no reason to worry."

But Molly kept holding her daughter, and even started sobbing lightly on her shoulder.

Arthur, who noticed Margot's puzzled look, cleared his throat.

"Is this when you come home, Margot?" He demanded with an attempted authority. "It's two in the morning. What are your mother and I supposed to do? Die with worry, knowing that our daughter is alone in this world in the middle of the night? What were you doing out there so late? We thought – we thought –"

So this is what this was all about. Worry. As if Margot didn't have enough on her mind, she now had to deal with her parents' anxiety issues. Little did she fathom the extent of their fears.

"Dad, I was at _work_. You know how late these events end sometimes."

"It's been like this since we've moved here, Margot. You never used to return this late!"

Molly suddenly pulled away from Margot. The girl was forced to look into her mother's eyes, which at that instant, much resembled those of a startled chipmunk.

"You're acting this way because we haven't shown you enough love, aren't you? Oh, I always knew that eight kids would be too much for us to handle…"

And there it was again: the 'adoptive child in a large family' theory. A Molly Weasley breakdown was pretty much the last thing that Margot needed in the middle of the night.

"I spent so much time with Ginny when she was a baby," Molly continued, "and then I had to deal with the twins' and their constant mischief, and Percy was such an attention-grabber, and I was just too concerned with Bill and Charlie's studies to look after you! And now look at you, you're sacrificing your life and overworking yourself! We're terrible parents, aren't we, Margot?"

Her daughter sighed.

"Mum, we've already had this conversation years ago! I know that I'll never be a ginger and I'm perfectly fine with that! The way I'm acting these days has nothing to do with this family."

"What _does_ it have to with then?" asked Arthur.

Margot moved away from her mother and sat on a nearby chair. She dropped her handbag down beside her, placed her elbows on the table and rubbed her face tiredly with her cold hands.

"Ollie won't leave."

Molly suddenly stood moving, and Arthur pulled his glasses back up his nose, seemingly uncomfortable.

"I tried- I tried to make him- he just-"

The rest of her sentence, which went something along the lines of "won't listen to me", was engulfed by a swarm of loud sobs. Margot rarely cried, and had always been emotionally reserved in front of her parents. Her mother came forth and kneeled in front of her.

"Darling, it's not your fault. You're both adults now; Oliver can take his own decisions."

"We're here for you, Margot," added her father reassuringly. "You can't just keep yourself away from us, because it's not doing you any good. We're a family; we stick together. If there's anything that you want to tell us, your brothers, or Ginny, know that there will always be someone there to listen to you."

Margot nodded in response. She sniffled a few times and straightened herself on her chair.

"Well, I'm exhausted," she said awkwardly. "I'll, um, see you tomorrow."

"Sleep tight, Margot."

"Goodnight."

She grabbed her handbag and left the kitchen, using her wand to find the way to her temporary room. She pulled the blinds down using her wand as well and, too exhausted to do anything else, threw herself on her bed, fully clothed.

The sleep wouldn't come. In fact, Margot had spent the last three weeks rolling from side to side in this uninviting bed that wasn't hers. But she had to keep going. Dumbledore had entrusted her with this mission, which could possibly put an end to Voldemort's wicked dictatorship.

How much time did she have left until Voldemort's men would come get her? Days? Weeks? It was almost as though she wanted them to take her now. She hated this fruitless wait. She was slowly deteriorating, both mentally and physically, because of her delicate task. No one understood her.

No one understood her, except, as peculiar as it seemed, for Nott. Nott had read her mind. Perhaps that was why she had been feeling so distant from her family, because as much as they knew her, they couldn't fathom what she was actually feeling during these times of despair. Nott, however, didn't have to ask. He knew that Margot was afraid, tortured even, by her mission. But Nott was the epitome of evil, a replica of young Tom Riddle, with his same ambition turned to madness. She would never let him enter her mind again.

Margot was unbearably alone.


End file.
